


as the road vanishes behind us

by I_Failed_English_Lit



Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Calvin & Hobbes, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Study, Established Calvin/Susie Derkins, Gen, Road Trips, the mystery of Hobbes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 13:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11761383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Failed_English_Lit/pseuds/I_Failed_English_Lit
Summary: Where Calvin and Susie decide to go on a road trip, Hobbes hangs out in the background, a girl with superpowers is looking for a way home, and a town in Indiana is having trouble moving on.ORThe head-canon that's going to become obsolete in October.





	as the road vanishes behind us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coerulus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coerulus/gifts).



> I just want to start this thing off by, once again, thanking my awesome beta coerulus (sorry I don't know how to link to your page T_T) for putting up with my weird-ass writing shenanigans.

“I’ve been thinking,” Calvin is saying. He waits for Susie’s automatic response to that phrase whenever it leaves his mouth and is not disappointed.

“Always a dangerous habit.”

He can’t help grinning in the moonlit darkness. Susie has a flashlight out over her schoolwork and is chewing on the cap of her plastic ballpoint pen. She always does that when she’s working through some particularly devious problem. Over the years, she’s managed to chew grooves into most of her pens and pencils, and a lot of Calvin’s, too.

“I mean, we’ve got, what, thirty days of school left?”

“Thirty-eight,” Susie corrects as she underlines a few words on her reading.

Calvin scowls. “Weekends don’t count.”

“I need to study on the weekends.”

Calvin snorts but doesn’t argue the point. He’d tried telling her before that she doesn’t necessarily  _ need _ to study, but that’s a debate he lost a long time ago.

“All I’m saying is,” he pushes on, “it’s the end, right? I mean, you’re going to Columbia in the fall. So, how about we do something a little crazy this summer?”

He carefully avoids mentioning where he’s going, because that’s a topic that they have yet to properly talk about. He definitely can’t go to Columbia with her; they both know any application he sent would be laughed off the campus.

Susie fixes him with a stare and Calvin shifts awkwardly against the tiles on her roof. “I promise it’s not illegal this time.” When Susie continues to look at him with an unconvinced expression, Calvin sighs and gives in. “Let’s go on a road trip.”

That throws her for a second, and Calvin talks quickly to fill the quiet.

“I mean, don’t you want to see the rest of the country a bit? Just take a drive without an essay or a test hanging over your head? We can see that arch in Seattle or wherever or the Golden Gate Bridge or . . .” His voice trails off.

“You’re sure this isn’t because you want to get out of the state because you did something illegal?” Susie asks skeptically.

“No!” Calvin shoots back, offended. “Well, I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything illegal lately.”

“You have a car?”

“Well,” Calvin proclaims proudly, since it’s pretty rare for him to actually plan ahead, “you know how I work at the farmer’s market after school. I met this farmer who needed to get rid of his old truck, and I had a bit saved up from the job since my parents won’t let me buy anything fun after the Noodle Incident without them checking it out first, so I called Mom and I bought it.”

Susie sighs and her breath pushes a few strands of hair away from her face. “Fine. After finals, though.”

Calvin just grins and leans back.

The two of them sit there on her roof as the moon shines down at them from above.

-X-

_ Hawkins, Indiana. 1984. _

_ There is a cancer at the heart of this small town, set somewhere in the quiet middle of nowhere. _

_ It lies beneath the surface, echoing from the events of the past year. _

_ The moonlight passes over the town, as somewhere, the voice of Bob Dylan croons through a radio. _

_ “Oh, the times they are a-changin' . . .” _

-X-

Hobbes is waiting for Calvin when he climbs back in through the window.

“So?”

“She’s coming,” Calvin says with a grin.

Hobbes nods at that and reclines back onto Calvin’s bed. The tip of his tail twitches lightly, casting a shadow light a writhing snake onto the floor from the moonlight shining through the window. The bed groans slightly as Calvin lies down next to him. The two of them are looking up at the ceiling, where, if you look carefully, you can still see the swirls of color left from the time Calvin had decided that James Pollock paintings could be imitated by an eight year-old.

His parents hadn’t been particularly impressed by the defense that “It was  _ art _ , Mom!”

“You know,” Calvin begins, “I saw Rosalyn in town today.”

Hobbes gives a low purr that tells Calvin that he’s listening.

“She’s back from college early. She was up at the grocery store. You know, it’s funny. She didn’t recognize me. I could recognize her the moment I say her – even though she changed her hair – but she didn’t recognize me. Walked right past me.”

“Well,” Hobbes says philosophically, “it has been years.”

“I think she’s getting married.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she had a wedding ring on. Not a cheap one, either, it had a diamond on it. I don’t know if it was real, though.”

“Well, did it look real?”

Calvin furrows his brow, thinking back. “Yes, I think so.”

Hobbes shrugs, the bed moving under his shoulders. “Then it was the same thing as being real, don’t you think?”

“No,” Calvin says with a frown. “If it was real, then it was real. If it’s fake, then it isn’t really real, even if we think it is.”

“If you can’t tell the difference, then  _ is _ there a difference?” Hobbes asks. “I mean, if no one could tell that her wedding ring was fake, then how could it be fake?”

Calvin just shakes his head. “Well, there  _ should _ be a difference.”

Hobbes doesn’t reply to that and Calvin wonders if he’s fallen asleep. Then,

“Did you get the air conditioner fixed?”

Calvin sighs. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I’m pretty sure we had this conversation last night, too.”

Hobbes just laughs at that, before stepping off the bed and walking to the table.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing a note.”

“I refuse to follow any schedule imposed by a piece of paper on principle.”

“You refuse to follow any schedule, period.”

“Exactly. See: principle.”

Hobbes rolls his eyes (Calvin can practically  _ hear _ him rolling his eyes) and puts the piece of paper down on the desk before lying back down on the bed.

“Hobbes? That conversation we had last night, you remember it, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I was dreaming when we had the conversation.”

Hobbes snorts. “Don’t you know that we talk in our dreams? We talked about this before, remember? Back when you were six?”

“Oh, right. Just seems as though that been happening less and less, lately.”

Hobbes gives a noncommittal growl and turns on his side, away from Calvin.

“Hobbes?”

“Yes?”

“Remember Mr. Bun?”

“Susie’s doll? Yes, why?”

“I was just wondering if the two of them ever talk anymore. I didn’t see Mr. Bun in Susie’s room when I went over. Actually, I don’t think I’ve seen him in a while. Not since her mom died.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Hobbes snaps, his temper suddenly flaring. “She grew up.”

-X-

_ It’s well into winter break when his mom makes Mike take down El’s fort. He still thinks of it as hers, even if she hasn’t lived in it in months. His mom had caught sight of it a week after Christmas, when she had come downstairs to break up another hours-long campaign. _

_ “Michael.” She taps her foot impatiently. All the other kids are gone. They’d seen the clock in her eyes. _

_ “Mom.” _

_ “I don’t know why you think you need to keep that blanket hanging, Michael -” _

_ “Mom.” _

_ “- but frankly, it’s starting to get a little morbid.” _

_ “Mom.” _

_ “I mean, Michael, at some point you’re going to have to accept that she isn’t coming back -” _

_ “Mom!” _

_ “- and even if she was, she wouldn’t be living here. I mean, really, she probably has a mom somewhere -” _

_ “MOM!” _

_ “Don’t interrupt me, Michael.” _

_ Mike just falls to the floor and scowls darkly across the room. His mom sighs. _

_ “Mike, I get that this is hard, but sometimes -” She pauses, chewing her lower lip. For an instant, she looks as lost as her son. “I just want you to know that you can talk to me, OK?” _

_ Mike doesn’t reply. _

_ Karen sighs and heads back upstairs. From above, Mike can hear voices drifting down. She’s talking to her dad. She’s wondering aloud if they should find a psychiatrist. His dad just waves it off as hormones, and then their voices drift out of earshot. _

_ He turns his head to look at the blanket fort. He stands up and walks over to it, laying a hand on the patterned fabric. There’s a layer of dust that clings to his hand when he pulls it away. On a whim, he breathes a puff of air onto his hand and watches the motes float off into the room, briefly visible in the dim basement lights. _

_ Suddenly, he draws his hand back and whips it forward like he’s throwing a rock so that it crashes into the cloth. He doesn’t feel better for it. _

_ He reaches out and grabs the cloth, yanking it onto the ground, and stomps on it as hard as he can. He kicks a chair, then shoves it as hard as he can onto the floor. He kicks some of the pillows, twisting his whole body around to get the maximum force into the blows. _

_ This goes on for a few minutes. _

_ Finally, panting, Mike sits on the ground and stairs at the mess he’s made. He still doesn’t feel any better. _

_ (The next morning, when Karen sees that the fort is gone, she doesn’t feel particularly satisfied. She just feels worried.) _

-X-

Calvin is waiting outside the school, idly flipping through some old paperbacks lying the glove cabinet that the owner hadn’t bothered to clean out, when a rock hits his window.

“Hey, Twinkie!”

Calvin groans and starts rolling down the window. “What do you want, Moe?”

A grin full of chipped, yellowing teeth peers back at him. “Just checking out your ride. The fuck, Twinkie, I didn’t know you were loaded.”

Calvin notices, for the first time, that Moe’s teeth have a light green film over them. It bothers him a lot more than it should.

“So,” Moe continues after a short pause. “This seeing any use, yet?”

Calvin looks at him blankly. In his head, he’s wondering when Susie’s going to come out of the school.

“What?”

“Girls, man. You had any girls in here? Like that one you keep hanging out with. The Derkins one. Used to have purple braces. Hey, if you’re not using it, maybe you should let me borrow. I got a date.” He says the last sentence with a boasting tone of voice, like he expects Calvin to be impressed at his nascent social skills.

“With a sock, maybe,” Calvin mutters.

Immediately, two meaty hands grab the collar of his shirt and drag him through the open window, banging the top of his head against the window frame. “The fuck you say, Twinkie?”

With an almost fascinated horror, Calvin hears his mouth open and say: “You’d better be nice to me, Moe.”

“Haw! Why?”

He should really shut up.

“Because someday my tax dollars will be paying for your prison cell.”

Calvin head snaps back through the window and he can taste blood leaking out of a split lip. Outside, Moe is standing with his fists clenched, but his eyes look just a little like those of a deer Calvin had caught sight of using a flashlight seven years ago. Moe’s dad is living in prison right now.

At the moment, Moe seems to be trying to think of a good comeback. Finally, he settles on “Well, fuck  _ you _ , Twinkie” and wanders off.

There turns out to be a box of cotton balls in the glove compartment. They don’t look too old either, so he rips the box open and is dabbing at the corner of his mouth when Susie finally gets out of school.

He can tell from the sharp intake of breath outside his window. “Is this a joke, Calvin?”

He grins, even though it stings his lip. “Nope.”

He’s sitting in a Chevy C/K 1974 and right now, he knows Susie is trying to do some numbers in her head. “How on earth . . .”

Calvin shrugs. “I got a good deal. I mean, what were you expecting?” As he says this, he reaches across and unlocks the passenger door.

After a moment’s hesitation, Susie walks across and gets in. The car pulls away from the sidewalk.

“I don’t know. I think I was kind of expecting one of those old VW buses with flowers and rainbows painted on the side. One that would break down every few miles. One that’d you’d gotten scammed for.”

“The ones that hippies used to have?”

“I guess.” She looks over at him and says, rather sharply, “What happened to your face?”

He’d been hoping she wouldn’t notice. “Moe and me had a talk.”

“ ‘And I,’ ” Susie corrects. “Is that going to be OK?”

“It’s just a cut.”

A few miles of road pass in silence. At one point, they pass by a yellow school bus taking kids home from elementary school.

“Is Mrs. Wormwood still teaching?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes. I see her every week when I volunteer at the school teaching science.”

“What’s  _ that  _ like?”

“You know, she isn’t really that bad.”

“The old witch hated me.”

Susie shrugs. “To be fair, you were an absolutely terrible kid to work with. If you want, we could try stopping by the old school before we leave and you could try talking to her.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell,” Calvin says by way of reply.

“She’s honestly not a bad person,” Susie mutters with a sigh.

They slow to a stop in front of a red light. Susie grabs one of the books on the dashboard.

“Firestarter?”

“It came with the car.”

“Oh.”

The light turns green.

It’s a few more minutes before Calvin breaks his silence. “Remember Moe’s dad?”

Susie rolls her eyes. “Bit hard to forget?”

The police had come for him after he’d crashed his car through the garage door, staggered out stinking drunk, and started screaming obscenities at his neighbors. The household inside had been more of a mess than the man himself, especially his wife.

“It’s just that when it happened, I thought that explained everything about Moe. I mean, I felt sorry for him and everything. I thought he would be better without his dad around.” His voice lapses.

“But?” Susie softly prods.

“He’s still a dick.” The phrase hovers in the air between them for a few moments before Calvin feels the need to explain. “I just wonder, why’s he such a dick if he knows what it’s like to be bullied? If his dad was a jerk to him, why does he get off on being a jerk to other people?”

Susie is quiet for so long that Calvin thinks that she’s just decided not to answer. When she finally does speak, it’s carefully, choosing each word with exacting attention and care.

“About a year ago, I was reading a book by Paulo Freire.”

“Who?”

Susie shoots him a look that clearly says  _ “Don’t interrupt me, peasant _ . _ I’m imparting wisdom.” _

“He said that people who have been oppressed tend to look to their oppressors for guidance, that people who have been oppressed usually have no problem oppressing people themselves. People who have been bullied don’t usually dream of justice, they dream of doing the bullying. They don’t care that someone is being bullied, as long as it isn’t them.”

Calvin chews on that. “So, what you’re saying is -”

Susie cuts him off. “I’m not saying anything. I’m just thinking out loud.”

“OK,” Calvin says without conviction. He’s not sure that he understands, but he thinks he might.

They drive the rest of the way to their homes in silence.

Outside Susie’s house, Calvin suddenly turns as she’s about to leave and asks, “So who was Paulo Freire, anyway?”

“A Brazilian educator and theorist of critical pedagogy.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

Susie just laughs and heads home.

-X-

_ Jonathan Byers is, in a word, losing. He’s losing the war to maintain his sanity on multiple fronts. He’ll think he’s making progress somewhere only for life to violently blindside him like a deranged locomotive. He’ll try to pay attention to everything, and everything will slowly sink beneath the surface. He feels distinctly overmatched and overwhelmed and absolutely outnumbered. He’ll lie in bed and have the distinct sensation that the blankets are drowning him in their comforting grip as he quietly floats beneath the waves. So, for the sake of simplicity, let’s just number the ways he’s losing. _

_ 1: Something is up with his brother. He’s coughing just about all the goddamned time these days and it’s gotten so bad that even his mom has noticed. She took Will to a doctor a few weeks ago but the man had just shrugged and asked if Will had ever had a history of allergies. The problem here is that this shouldn’t have been his mom’s problem. His mom has enough shit overflowing her plate right now. This is supposed to be where he, as the older brother, takes charge and looks after the household when his mom can’t. _

_ Right. That’s been going well. _

_ 2: He has no fucking clue how he’s supposed to sort out his feelings about Nancy and Steve. They’re still together, and for all intents and purposes, they’re the freaking picture of a healthy, stable high school relationship. Jonathan has absolutely no desire to inject his own, screwed-up self into that perfect picture. He isn’t the most self-aware kind of person, but he knows enough that people probably don’t want creepy photo-taking stalkers drifting around the edges of their lives, much less pushing their way towards the center. _

_ Doesn’t change how he feels though. _

_ Of course, Lonnie Byers is never really very far out of his mind’s eye whenever he thinks about them. _

_ 3: He thinks he might be going insane. Just a little bit. _

_ He has nightmares every few nights about the monster that leave him sitting in his room with his souped-up baseball bat tightly clenched in his hands. He sits in the middle of the room, far away from any of the walls. He’s gone so far as to push the bed away from the walls so that he can sleep a bit easier. _

_ Occasionally, he’ll grab the bat and the rifle from the shed out back and go through the woods with a flashlight. He’s not sure what he’s looking for. He’s not sure what would even happen if he found something. He just goes looking. _

_ As sort of an add-on to this (3-a, if you will), his grades have been slipping up. Enough that his mom is starting to give him concerned looks at breakfast. This is a problem because this is the point in his life where he needs to start thinking about his college application. He tried to write his essay for NYU during winter break, but all he can think about for “Life Experiences” is the time he hunted a faceless interdimensional demon. He’s pretty sure that qualifies for a “special, unique, distinctive, or impressive” life experience. _

_ The problem is that it is absolutely, certifiably insane. _

_ 4: He’s pretty sure that he’s actually lost this time. _

_ The trees all look unfamiliar at this time of night, without even a moon to cast some light, and his flashlight had started dying on him about ten minutes ago. _

Well _ , he thinks drily _ , at least it isn’t a school night _. _

-X-

His parents finally confront him about the trip about two weeks before school ends. He’s coming home with a bag of groceries for his parents, tuna for Hobbes (they  _ still _ don’t sell swordfish steaks, so Hobbes has to settle for cruelty-free tuna), and supplies for the trip. Mostly medical stuff that he can kind-of use and toiletries.

His parents are waiting in the kitchen when he comes in.

They’re sitting down at a table in a disgustingly  _ casual _ manner, with that air of practiced normalcy that only comes when you need to fake it. They’re fidgeting just a little too much for it to be real and the awkward way they’re looking at each other would be a massive red flag on its own.

Calvin resolutely does not look at them until after he’s put the groceries away. The steady, persistent  _ thump _ of meats and vegetables and fruits and tomatoes (if everyone’s going to argue about what they are, he’ll just make them their own category) hitting the different levels of the fridge fills the room for a few minutes. He folds up the bag and puts it in a box in the space under the sink. Then he turns and takes a seat at the table with his parents.

“So, you guys change your minds?”

His mom looks awkwardly at his dad as if pleading for help, before fixing her eyes back on Calvin and taking a breath.

“Look, Calvin, it’s just that we never actually thought you were serious about this whole idea.”

Calvin declines to respond to that.

“I mean,” his dad says, picking up the thread of his mom’s statement, “you’ve had some pretty crazy ideas over the years, if we’re being honest. That time you tried to go to the Yukon, for starters.”

(Upstairs, Hobbes, who is listening through the floor, smiles at the memory. If you go digging through the closet, you can still find Calvin’s old helmet. That had been the event that had made him decide that, in the end, Calvin’s parents were really all-right people.)

“Honey,” his mom reaches over to grasp his hand, “if this is what you want to do, then we’re not going to stop you. You’re legally an adult now, after all.”

Calvin’s dad mutters, “Terrifying thought.” He keeps it low, though, and only Hobbes catches it.

“And we think that having Susie along is a good idea, for a lot of reasons.”

“Mainly that she’ll be able to bail you out of prison.” This time, his dad isn’t successful at keeping it low enough and his wife shoots him a look.

“Just, are you sure you want to do this?”

Calvin nods, and his eyes have an unfamiliar light of determination in them.

“All right, then,” his dad states, “heaven help us all.”

His wife kicks him under the table.

He groans. “All right, Calvin. Now, you’re going to be spending a lot of time with Susie, so there are a few things we – your mom and I – have decided you need to be aware of.”

“Oh.” Calvin’s face has an expression of horror slowly bubbling to the surface. “Dear God, please, no.”

His father nods grimly. “I’m afraid so.”

(Upstairs, Hobbes just chuckles.)

-X-

_ All of them played with their radios at night, at first, jumping through frequencies, looking for – _

_ Well, to be honest, none of them were really sure what they were looking for. A voice, maybe. Something that would tell them that the world was somehow still following the rules. Unspoken, vague, undefined rules about abstract concepts like good or justice, but rules nonetheless. _

_ They stopped, one after another, though none of them really ever talked about it. _

_ Will stopped first. It was hard looking for someone you didn’t know, and he had a small problem waiting for him in the kitchen sink. He had only listened out of some weird sense of duty to the person who, according to his friends, had saved him. _

_ Dustin stopped next. He can see that something’s up with Will, that something’s up with all of them, and he makes an executive decision. Focus on the home front. _

_ Lucas held out a surprisingly long time. He felt guilty for a long time about the things he had said, but even he gave up eventually. _

_ So now it’s just Mike, sitting up at night and fiddling with the radio. He whispers a name that night, when he thinks everyone in the house is asleep. _

_ (Somewhere else, somewhere very cold and very, very dark, someone else whispers his name so that it frosts in the chilled air.) _

-X-

Graduation is a reminder of why they got the yearbook slot for “Most Unlikely Couple.”

Susie is valedictorian. Obviously. She had spent the night with Calvin, nervously rehearsing a speech while Calvin had folded his old homework into origami. Two weeks before, she had been stressing about whether or not she would be valedictorian, while Calvin had rolled his eyes and wondered “Who else?”

(Mr. Bun, if he had been capable, would have said the same thing, albeit much more comfortingly.)

So that’s Susie.

Calvin is the kid who barely scrapes by with borderline grades – and that’s  _ with _ the help of the school’s star student – who almost misses his name being called because he’s busily plotting a zombie uprising, and who blows a bubble with his chewing gum as he gets his diploma.

That’s Calvin.

But Susie still drags Calvin along to her different parties afterwards, when the Science Club and the orchestra and the Medical Society all throw end-of-high-school celebrations.

Susie gives a few more speeches because she’s president.

Calvin sets off a rocket – by accident, he swears – and learns why the club keeps a fire extinguisher in the workshop. The science teacher gives him a truly magnificent stink-eye.

A few days later, Calvin drives up outside of Susie’s house.

When she steps into the car, she notices that Hobbes is seated directly between the two of them.

“Really?”

“Really.”

She waves good-bye to her parents and the car trundles out of the driveway.

This is how it starts.

-X-

_ About a month into freshman year of high school, Susie has a nightmare. She lies in bed when her eyes open and she is surprised by the weight of the dark on her eyelids. There is nothing she can see beyond the edge of her bed; it all stretches into a blank, empty darkness. It stretches on and on in every direction until she can’t even begin to guess where the end lies. She sits, a speck of soft color in pajamas and her blanket in the smothering black. She lies back down and closes her eyes. _

_ In the morning, she wakes with the firm conviction that she had an extremely strange dream, but when she mentions it to her parents, she cannot think of a single detail of her dream to tell them. The feeling that she needs to remember her dream nibbles at her mind throughout the morning until, at some point in the morning, it slides from her mind without a whisper and she forgets about the dream entirely. _

_ The next night, when she wakes in the dark, she is lying on the ground. The ground itself doesn’t feel like anything; it’s just one of those irrelevant details that never crosses her mind in the course of dream. She is lying on her side, unable or unwilling to move. _

_ From beneath her, something is rising. It flows around her and begins to cover her. It pours between the spaces in between her toes and under her fingernails and into her ears. It keeps rising and begins to cover her face, blinding her and choking her and running into her slightly open mouth. Finally, it covers her completely, drowning her beneath an inky black surface that quickly calms, as smooth and silent and unmoving as a mirror. _

-X-

They hit the southern shore of Lake Erie in two hours. They both put on shorts and sandals, slather on sunscreen, and go for a walk. Calvin double and triple checks the car to make sure that it’s locked before they set out. It’s hitting the end of mid-day, after the worst heat has already passed and the sea breeze is heading outwards.

Out over the water, the sun is settling comfortably into the line of the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and red and gold. The sun itself has dimmed to the point where you can look at it straight-on without feeling like you’re putting needles in your eyes.

Calvin right hand snakes between the two of them as they walk side-by-side down the waterline and lightly grips Susie’s left. To their left, the tide is coming in.

“So.” Susie breaks the silence first.

“Yeah?” Inside, Calvin wonders what he’s done wrong this time. At least, he’s hoping he didn’t do anything wrong, but that’s honestly the most likely scenario.

“So.”

A bead of sweat drips down Calvin’s forehead, traces a path past his eyes, slips down his neck, and drips into the collar of his shirt.

“We’ve never really talked about how you decided to do this, you know.” Susie waves her hand expansively in front of them, taking in the beach, the ocean, the other groups of people enjoying the ocean, and, of course, themselves. “Did this just come out of nowhere, or . . .”

The question trails off, inviting Calvin to respond.

“Well, I was at the library a few months ago and I was talking to one of the librarians. We’d talked a few times before that, so she kind of knew me. I was going to leave and before I left, she mentioned that they had gotten a new book a few days ago – a few days before that, not literally a few days ago – and she said she thought I should read it.”

“Which book was it?”

“ ‘On the Road,’ by Jack Kerock.”

Susie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean ‘Kerouac’?”

“Right. Whatever.” Calvin waves his left hand dismissively. “The point is, the book was about the author going on a road trip, and I thought, that sounds really cool. So, I mentioned it to my dad, and he told me that there were always these landmarks he wanted to visit with his family, but he’d just never had the time. His job, you know? And that was pretty much it.”

“How was the book, though?”

“Oh, ‘On the Road’? I don’t know. I had to return before I was able to finish it. There was something really cool, though. Jack, the guy who wrote it, wrote the whole thing in three weeks in one sitting. I’m not kidding, he actually jury-rigged this crazy single huge roll of paper to a typewriter so that he wouldn’t have to break his flow to change pages.”

Susie frowns. “Don’t you know that’s a myth?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Chapman was telling us about that in English. The book actually took about ten years to write.”

“No, but the original scroll is actually on display in a university somewhere.”

“The thing is, he did type that scroll in three weeks, but he had the whole thing memorized at that point. He started spreading the story that he had written the whole thing in one sitting after he got a publisher to release the book. He was deliberately trying to create this image of an artist who could pump out a book perfectly on the first attempt.”

“Oh.”

At this point, they bump into another couple coming down the beach, but neither pair stops. A third person, sitting in Calvin’s backpack, is the only one who seems to notice.

“I kind of wish I didn’t know that now,” Calvin says quietly, after walking quietly long enough for the sun to sink a few more inches.

“Sorry?”

“The book. It just seemed a lot more special back when I could imagine this guy crouched in front of a typewriter, pounding on the keys and living off of coffee and drugs for three weeks.”

“I like it better this way,” Susie replies with a shrug. “I mean, this way, it seems more like an actual book. Actual art should take work, you know? Things should take time. That way, when you finish something, you know that you can be proud of it because you put effort into it, instead of just slapping it down on the table.”

“I don’t know, the world just seems less special with that fact. I mean, wouldn’t it be cool if you were one of the people who could do that?”

“Not really. I mean, if you were one of those people, sure. But what about everyone else? I just like it better when I can do something if I try hard enough to do it.”

“But what about the stuff you’ll just never be good at?” Calvin presses. “I mean, no offense, but you’ll probably never be as good of a piano player as Candace cause she started playing when she was one or something.”

“I can’t do anything about that, though. So why stress about it?”

“I guess.” Calvin sighs. “It’s just that, whenever I read those articles about how the best time to learn something is when you’re young, it seems as if that chance passed before I even knew it was a limited-time deal. It’s like, somehow, the best part of my life is already behind and I’m not allowed to know that until after it’s already gone.”

“Hey!”

They turn. The couple from earlier is running up to them.

“Sorry,” the girl pants as she comes to a stop. “Have you seen a pair of sunglasses? My boyfriend lost his and we can’t find them.”

“Well, when did you notice it was gone?” Susie asks.

As she’s off being the reasonable one, Calvin bends over his backpack and zips it open. “Hobbes!” he hisses.

A newly bespectacled tiger looks up at him smugly.

“When did you even get that?”

“It’s not my fault if humans are too slow to see my awe-inspiringly fast pouncing skills,” Hobbes informs him. “Or too distracted with human mating dances.”

Calvin gags, which makes the three behind him look at him oddly. “Nothing!” he says politely, before turning back at Hobbes. “I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to keep that.”

“Since when are  _ you _ the law-abiding one?”

“Since dad threatened to ship me off to military school after the Second Noodle Incident.”

“I don’t think he was serious.”

“I don’t plan to test that theory. Hey!” He tosses the sunglasses to their rightful owner.

“Thank you!” The man frowns. “Wait, how did you -”

“My tiger found them,” Calvin replies tersely and grabs Susie’s wrist. “Bye now!”

The couple just raises their hands in confusion. Leaning over to Susie’s ear, Calvin whispers, “I’ll explain later. Just go with it.”

Susie looks confused, but finally nods cautiously and they start walking.

It’s quiet for a while.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened there?”

Calvin glances at her from the side of his eye, screwing up his courage. “Do you remember Mr. Bun?”

“You mean that stuffed rabbit I used to own?”

“Yes.”

“Not really. I mean, I gave her away a few years ago to a cousin. Is this, you know, relevant?”

“I’m just going to promise you right now, on the memory of Mr. Bun and the time I threw snowballs at you when we were six, that I am not a kleptomaniac.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it. Loudly.”

“No I wasn’t!”

“You definitely were.”

“Uh-huh. And which snowball fight should I use as the spiritual collateral for this promise?”

“How about the time I threw a snowball at you, and then you went out a rolled up this huge bundle of snow and buried my whole head under it?”

“Oh God, you actually remember that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Huh.” Susie chews on that for a few minutes. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“Well, it was kind of hard to forget.”

They both laugh at that memory. At the edge of the water, the sun has almost completely vanished, leaving the sky to the west a dripping crimson.

“We should probably head back now,” Susie mutters.

“Right.”

They come to a stop, facing the darkening horizon. This time, Susie’s hand reaches first.

-X-

_ “Mr. Owens.” _

_ “Gentlemen. Have we made any progress?” _

_ “Sir, we’re following the life signs underground, but the rate at which they move suggests that there might be some underground network beneath the town.” _

_ “Like sewers?” _

_ “We’re looking into it, sir.” _

_ “And the source of the contamination?” _

_ “We’re still trying to pin it down, but we think it might have infested a residential area.” _

_ “Then we had better work quickly. A residential clean-up will be harder to hide from the news cameras.” _

_ “Yes, sir.” _

_ “And put some more manpower into the shutting down the portal downstairs. We had to redirect a passenger jet to avoid them noticing the magnetic shift.” _

_ “Sir, shouldn’t we at least consider the possibility that we might still be able to use the portal for research?” _

_ “Doctor, I could care less what you find out about the portal and wherever it goes. Right now, this has the potential to become a bigger embarrassment for the U.S. government than Iran. You have until the portal is shut down to continue your experiments. Then, it’s all up to the Department of Energy.” _

-X-

Calvin doesn’t take Hobbes out of his bag until Susie’s taking a shower in the motel bathroom. Rather, he opens the bag and Hobbes saunters down to the carpet, stretches himself to his full length on the cheap polyester, and carefully ignores Calvin’s glare.

“Are we going to talk about that?”

Hobbes rolls his emerald eyes. “You mean those sunglasses? Please. They weren’t even real Dior.”

Calvin lets a breath out of his mouth slowly. “You know, I’m still not used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“Playing the sane man in the room. You were the one who tried to talk me out of driving the car into the ditch, remember?”

“I haven’t changed, Calvin. You did.”

Calvin thinks about that long into the night. He’s sleeping on the couch that night, while Susie takes the bed. They’ll switch tomorrow night.

He had decided that Hobbes was the product of an overactive imagination around the time he was half-way between twelve and thirteen. That hadn’t stopped him from talking to Hobbes, necessarily, just made him more careful about being seen talking to him. His parents had made him take meds once when he was nine. For about a week, he had walked like a zombie, bumping into walls and talking to no one. Even his parents had been relieved the night he had come down for dinner and declared that he was launching a populist revolution.

Of course, Hobbes hadn’t stopped talking to him even then.

Most of the time, Calvin is able to think of Hobbes as a particularly embarrassing holdover from his childhood, similar to the metal pins in his knee from when he had driven his wagon off of a tree, which his parents hadn’t believed when he had told them, or his fondness for red-and-black striped shirts.

And then Hobbes steals a pair of sunglasses.

It’s always small, never big enough to warrant some serious questioning on Calvin’s part, but big enough to make him wonder . . .

-X-

_ It’s not cold. It’s not hot either, but mostly it’s not cold. It’s just dark. _

_ She’s not really sure that  _ dark _ is the right word to describe this. At Home-but-not-home, they had told her that darkness was when there was no light. They had held a little ball that was glowing white-yellow to show her what light was. _

_ She thinks that he would have explained it better. Him. His name was – _

_ She thinks hard. She  _ pushes  _ her mind to remember. There was the wet and the cold, and a yellow shirt, and his name was – _

_ “Mike.” _

_ She remembers, and for a moment feels satisfied. It’s hard to remember anything out here in the black. _

His eyes were black, _ she remembers. That’s important. _

What color are my eyes?  _ she wonders. There was a . . . mirror (?) that Mike had.  _ Are my eyes open? Do I have eyes?

_ She can’t tell. All around her is black and black and white and black and – _

_ White? _

_ In the distance, somehow, she sees (that’s the wrong word, but it’s the best she has) a pinprick of white. It brightens the slightest bit (this is all wrong, but there’s no other way for her to think of it) and for a moment, after the silent, choking, blinding dark, it burns her eyes. _

_ Then it begins to darken and Eleven feels the sharp, agonizing sting of fear cut into her heart. _

Eleven, _ she remembers,  _ that was me.

_ It matters now, as she looks off into that tiniest, burning atom of light. She gazes at that last speck of hope and imagines her hands reaching out into the dark, stretching across the distance between them to grab it and pull it towards her before it flickers out into the dark. _

_ The light slowly dies, fading into the black, and she thinks, panic screaming in her mind,  _ “No,”  _ and  _ pushes _. She pushes so hard she hears something crack, as if the world itself had split in two, and she can’t tell if the crack comes from inside her or around her. _

_ The light jumps suddenly, brightening like a horn of fire, and all around her, the darkness begins to burn. _

-X-

This time, they’re just going to drive through the night. It’s Susie’s idea, insanely enough, but Calvin’s happy enough to drive. They’ve just hit a highway that winds its way through a forest and the best wildlife comes out at night anyways.

“I’m just saying,” Calvin is saying, even as Hobbes stiffens beside him, “we don’t need to be outside long, Susie! Just give me ten minutes with the camera and a flashlight and then we’ll go wherever you want. Just ten minutes –”

“And you’ll break your neck tripping over a tree,” Susie finishes for him. “And I’ll need to drag you through the woods and drive you to a hospital and your parents and my parents will drag us home in chains.”

Calvin is grumbling under his breath when Hobbes turns towards him. “Stop the car.”

“What?”

Susie looks at him oddly. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Now!”

Calvin’s foot moves of its own accord and slams the breaks. Susie is wearing a seatbelt. He isn’t.

“Ouch,” Susie says drily.

Calvin just glares at her while rubbing the general area on his chest that had just crashed into the steering wheel.

Susie rolls her eyes and opens the passenger door to step outside. “Well,” she announces, “at least we’re still on the road. Car looks fine. If this a plan to force me to let you go sightseeing in the forests at night, it’s even stupider than normal.”

A groan comes from the car.

“How about I drive for a bit, huh?” Susie calls out.

The driver’s door opens.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Calvin!” Hobbes snaps.

“What?” Calvin demands.

“We can’t leave yet.”

“Why not?”

“Are you talking to Hobbes?” Susie demands.

Calvin holds up a finger behind his back, eliciting a snort.

“I’m not sure,” Hobbes replies with furrowed brows. “As far as I can tell, she’s in the woods.”

“Who?”

“She’s not sure. She’s confused.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Look, just grab a flashlight, OK? It should only take a few minutes.” He sniffs the air, his whiskers twitching in the moonlight. “She isn’t far.”

Calvin glares at Hobbes, and in doing so, forgets rule number five of living with Hobbes:  _ Don’t get into staring contests with tigers _ .

“Fine!” he shouts.

“Calvin?”

“Just give me ten minutes, Susie, OK?” He grabs a flashlight.

“You’re not serious.”

He holds the driver door open for her. “If I don’t get back in ten minutes, throw Hobbes into a ditch.”

He walks off before Susie or his own sanity can get the better of him.

The night chill sinks into his bones and he almost sprains his ankle just walking off the road by stepping into a pothole.

Something about the whole situation feels unreal to Calvin. Ten minutes ago, he had been arguing with Susie about the possibility of vampires hanging around in these forests. Then his stuffed tiger ordered him into the woods.

_ I want you to start at the beginning _ , he imagines a psychiatrist saying.  _ Your tiger started talking to you? _

Even in his imagination, he can hear the incredulity.

When he first hears it, he can’t figure out what it is. Quiet breathing. Air coming in and out of a set of lungs. A small set of lungs, judging by the noise. For a moment, Calvin wonders if he’s stumbled on a bear cub.  _ Well,  _ he decides,  _ if I have to die, angry Momma Bear is a pretty badass way to go _ . He walks to the noise.

It’s dark in a way that’s hard to describe for someone who grew up in suburbs. The darkness is hair falling over his eyes, blacking out anything more than a few feet in front of him. The flashlight feels like a needle being waved in the face of a dragon. Everywhere he points it, the hard flat light lets him see a few feet, and then when he pulls it away, the details of what he saw fall out of his head.

The breathing, however, is starting to get a little more distinct. He tries walking a bit more quietly, as his feet crunching on the underbrush almost drown out the quiet breathing. Everything else is almost deafeningly quiet, as if the forest is holding its breath, and even the quiet crackle of leaves might as well be machine gun fire.

Suddenly, he realizes that the quiet breathing isn’t so much  _ in front  _ of him as it is  _ beneath _ him. He looks forward and a little down and points his flashlight. There are a tangle of roots and, if he squints, a hint of pink.

Fear rapidly clogs Calvin’s throat as he thinks about what that means. He puts the end of the flashlight in his mouth and starts pulling at the roots. They’re old, decaying, and they come apart easily in his hands. He lays his hands on the body and feels warmth. He wraps his hands around a surprisingly small arm ( _ a child,  _ he thinks blearily) and  _ pulls _ .

The kid comes out easily, so easily that Calvin falls over and the kid comes to a rest with a soft  _ umph _ on his chest.

He thinks she’s a boy at first, judging by her hair, but it’s a her. She’s wearing a pink dress and a blue-green plaid jacket over it. Calvin lies back with a groan and tries to think of a story for Susie.

-X-

_ Dr. Owens drags a hand over his face and looks down at the cooling cup of coffee in his hand. He considers getting up and restarting the coffee machine. There are only fifteen minutes left before he heads out for the night. He’s staying, for now at least, in a motel on the outskirts of Hawkins. Cheap fluorescent lights, a constant whirring of broken air conditioners, and the omnipresent smell of piss. He’ll be relieved when he can leave this podunk piece-of-shit town behind and get back to actual civilization. _

_ Someone – an intern or something, he can never remember – sticks his head in through the doorway. “Sir? Are you busy?” _

_ “No, kid, I’m actually enjoying the copious amounts of free time that come with shutting down the second-biggest covert research facility in the world.” _

_ “Oh. Well, then –” _

_ Owens rolls his eyes. “Get in here.” _

_ “Sir, about ten minutes ago, the Montauk facility recorded an unusual energy burst near around the northern border of Ohio, and wanted to know if we had picked up anything similar.” _

_ “And?” _

_ “Sir, you locked down those instruments last week.” _

_ “Shit. Alright, kid, get someone to put together an investigative group and get the exact location, as clearly as possible, from Montauk. Last thing we need is another incident report this close.” _

_ “Yes, sir.” _

_ “And start up the coffee machine. Looks like I’ll be here for a while.” _

-X-

“OK, start from the beginning just one more time.”

“Susie, I really think this can wait!”

“No, it really can’t!”

Calvin swears and slams the breaks on the car when they turn a bend and see a deer freeze before their headlights.

“I just went for a walk in the woods and came across the girl, all right!”

“No, it’s not alright. How the hell did you find her?”

“I heard her breathing,” Calvin mutters. The deer finally bounds away into the woods.

“Why did you even go for a walk, anyway?”

“I felt like it! Is that a crime now?”

“It’s sure going to look like one to the police. Have you thought about that? ‘Sorry, officer, I just happened to come across a girl sleeping in the woods, and, yes, I get that she looks malnourished and sleep-deprived, but I swear we didn’t kidnap her.’”

“Did you find a hospital yet?”

Susie lets out a scream of frustration and unfolds the map sitting on her lap. “Where’s your flashlight?”

“I think it’s rolling around my feet somewhere.”

Susie sighs and reaches down. A few seconds later, she triumphantly pulls the flashlight up and flicks it up. “We’re on the 90?”

“Yeah. Do we actually have to go to the police about this?”

“Are we seriously asking that? She could’ve been kidnapped!”

“So we just drop her off in front of a police station and drive on. I don’t see the problem there.”

“Have you taken a look at her? She looks seriously sick right now. What if she dies because we left her outside overnight?”

“That seems like bit of an overreaction.”

The girl in question is sitting between the two of them, not yet having woken up. Calvin had to forcibly remove Hobbes and stuff him under his seat. Taking a second look at her, he does have to admit that she looks extraordinarily pale.

“Wait, take the exit coming up.”

Calvin complies. Up ahead, he can see a straight row of streetlights and, further up, a glowing red sign that says EMERGENCY.

That’s when he feels a small set of fingers grab his wrist.

“Hey,” he almost shouts in surprise, “you’re awake! I mean, good, you’re awake!”

The girl peers at him with a strange mix of fear and fascination. Beside her, Susie coughs.

“Kid, uh, you all right?”

The girl slowly turns her head to look at her.

“Hi,” Susie says with fake cheerfulness. “My name’s Susan, but everyone calls me Susie. What’s your name?”

The girl doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, my name’s Calvin. Just, you know, in case you were curious.” The hospital is getting closer. “Can you talk?”

Susie shoots him an angry look, like  _ show some tact, idiot! _

Beneath his chair, he can hear Hobbes sighing in exasperation.

“What?” he shouts.

“What?” Susie asks in annoyance. “Don’t treat the girl like she’s stupid!”

“Not you!” Calvin kicks the underside of his chair. “Would you just shut up, you useless cat! Unless you have something productive to say!”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Him!”

“Who?” Susie raises the flashlight in suspicion.

“Crap, not in my eyes!” Calvin shouts and automatically raises his arms.

The car immediately flies out of his control and starts skidding to the side of the road at one of the lampposts. “Goddammit!” he roars as he grabs the wheel again and slams his foot down on the breaks. The car doesn’t stop, the tires squealing as they burn out against the asphalt of the road.

Then, it jerks to a stop. At least this time, Calvin’s wearing a seat belt, too.

Everything is quiet for a minute. Calvin and Susie both turn, very slowly, to look at each other. Both of them recognize confusion in each other’s eyes. Then, they very, very slowly tilt their gazes down to the look at the girl.

Her hands are outstretched in front of her and her face is contorted in an expression of intense concentration. “No,” she pronounces, very calmly and very clearly.

A drop of blood runs down her face.

-X-

_ “Mr. Owens? The report came in.” _

_ “And?” _

_ “The way it’s looking right now, the team is almost completely certain that there was an event out in the northern Ohio forests. They’re trying to triangulate an exact location, but the background radiation levels are high enough for them to be certain that an event happened.” _

_ “Shit. Well, why now?” _

_ “Well, sir, the thing is . . .” _

_ “Just spit it out.” _

_ “A few of the scientists kept some of the instruments running to finish up a few of their experiments, and they noticed that this took place around the same time that there was a significant power surge in the sewer system that they’re certain is linked to the infection we’ve been analyzing.” _

_ “Goddammit. Any good news?” _

_ “They think that if we give them a week to study the results, they’ll be able to determine where the infection is located.” _

_ “All right. Give them the go-ahead.” _

-X-

Over Susie’s protestations, Calvin drags them to a local motel. They put the girl in a bed, where she goes out immediately. They step into the hallway, and immediately start fighting.

“Why haven’t we just gone to the police?”

“Just think about it, all right? We’ve got a girl, who did . . . I don’t even know! She’s out in the woods at night, she looks exhausted, and did you see the number on her wrist?”

“There was a number on her wrist?”

“Yeah. The number 11.”

“What’s your point?”

“That doesn’t seem shady to you?”

“Which is just more reason for us to go to the police.”

“I’m just saying, what if there’s more here than we’re seeing?”

“What?”

“Just give this until morning, OK? Just let me ask her some questions.”

Susie gives him her best dead-eyes glare. “Has it occurred to you that she might kill us?”

“I’m pretty sure if she was going to kill us, she would’ve done it by now. I mean, she stopped a car!”

“We  _ think  _ she stopped a car.”

“Right. You going to go looking for wires, or something?”

Susie sighs. “I’m still not completely convinced that this isn’t a prank of yours.”

“Oh, come on, would I do that?”

Silence.

“OK, fine, just give me until morning. We’ll figure out what to do then.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

-X-

_ Will Byers has a problem, and that problem is sitting in the sink this morning. _

_ The slug wriggles blindly, searching for something. He carefully opens the faucets and lets the water carry it away into the sewers. He waits until any trace of the black sludge is gone. _

_ As he motions to close the faucet, the world  _ shifts _ just a little bit, and for a moment, he’s back in the Upside-Down. _

I can’t keep doing this, _ he thinks. “I can’t keep doing this,” he says out loud. He’ll do it today, he decides. He’s going to head down to his mom and his brother and tell them exactly what’s going on. _

_ And then, as quickly as a snake, something makes him reconsider. Not a voice in his head, but something more. Something that makes him  _ want, _ more than anything else in the world, to think this through one more time. He  _ needs _ to think about this one more time, just to be sure this is what he wants. _

_ After all, he thinks, he hasn’t been hurt in any way, not really. And his mom’s getting enough trouble as it is, with her job on the rocks lately. His brother isn’t doing much better. _

_ “Not yet,” he suddenly says out loud. Not until things are a bit safer. Think about it. They want to take care of him. He shouldn’t repay them by pushing more stuff into their laps. Just until things have calmed down a bit. _

_ He nods at himself in the mirror, and even there he looks a bit surer, a bit more certain.  _ Just a little longer _ , he reminds himself, and reaches for his toothbrush _ .

-X-

Neither of them sleep for more than a few exhausted seconds that night. They just sit staring fitfully at the girl on the bed. When the first rays of dawn start creeping in through the window, Susie abruptly stands up and, throwing a challenging look at Calvin, heads out of the room.

He tells himself he’s not worried.

She comes back about fifteen minutes later with coffee, bagels, cream, and warm sandwiches.

“Have I ever told you,” Calvin asks reverentially as he reaches for the food, “that I love you?”

She ignores him and stalks over to the bed, where she waves a warm pastrami sandwich over the girl’s nose. The girl wakes up immediately.

“Well,” Calvin mutters, “that worked. Some of this is mine, though, right?”

“You owe me,” Susie answers. Calvin replies by hungrily digging into a bagel while Hobbes watches the whole tableau from the top of the TV.

“You hungry?” Susie asks kindly.

The girl nods slowly, her eyes never leaving the sandwich.

“I’ll give this to you,” Susie explains, talking very slowly and deliberately, “but you need to tell me your name.”

The girl looks up at Susie’s face when she says that, clearly trying to decide something.

“El.” She points a finger at herself. “El.”

“Like ‘eleven’?” Calvin asks.

She shakes her head. “El.”

“OK, El,” Susie says and tears off a bit of the sandwich and hands it to her. She eats it in a second and begins licking the crumbs off her fingers. “Now, where are you from?”

“Bad place,” El says shortly, and reaches for the sandwich.

Susie pulls it just out of reach. “What bad place?”

“Papa.”

Susie frowns. “Was Papa bad?”

El stops reaching and pulls her hands back. She looks down at her lap. “Yes,” she says finally.

“All right,” Susie whispers, “it’s OK to say that if you think so. Why was Papa bad?”

“Experiments.” El’s lips curve around that word, as if uncertain how to pronounce, like something she had heard before and was just now trying it out for herself.

Calvin and Susie share a look. “OK,” Susie replies as she turns back to El and hands her the sandwich.

Susie stands up and grabs a cup of orange juice, which she leaves on the bed stand next to El. Then she grabs Calvin’s wrist and drags him out into the hallway.

Back inside, El looks around the room, properly for the first time. She freezes when her eyes come to rest on the tiger lying on the big black box sitting in the corner of the room.

The tiger winks a lazy, bright green eye at her. It raises a finger to its mouth and somehow, El thinks of the feeling, if not the specific word, “safe.” She thinks of Mike standing in front of her in the bathroom and Joyce holding her after the bath. She thinks of the “pillow fort” that Mike made for her.

She goes back to eating while the tiger watches with twinkling green eyes.

-X-

“We need to go to the police.”

“Wait, that’s what you got out of that little talk?”

“Well, what did you get?”

“That something shady is going on!”

“Which is exactly why we need to the police.”

“Well, what if this is . . .”

“If this is what?”

“Look, I get it sounds crazy.”

“I haven’t even heard what you think this is yet.”

“Do the words ‘government conspiracy’ not pop into your head at any point?”

“Oh my God . . .”

“I’m just saying!”

“Then what do  _ you _ suggest?”

“Remember that time in tenth grade?”

“You mean that time you went through a conspiracy theory phase and put tinfoil over all your house’s windows?”

“It sounds bad when you put it that way.”

“And my house’s!”

“There’s a journalist I got in touch with.”

“So we can go from amateur crackpot to professional crackpot?”

“No, he’s an actual professional journalist, I swear.”

“Who’s interested in conspiracy theories?”

“More like, he keeps an open mind. He was one of the guys who exposed MKULTRA.”

“What?”

“It was this crazy CIA experiment with LSD and stuff.”

“You lost me at ‘CIA experiment’.”

“It was a real thing, OK? There were journals and newspapers involved and there might even be a Supreme Court case next year. The point is, this guy, Jerry Thompson, he was involved in breaking the story.”

“And he’s ‘respectable’?”

“Nice air quotes.”

“Calvin . . .”

“Yes! He was with  _ News on the March _ back in the 40s and he led the investigation into that famous guy’s death, you know, that newspaper guy at Xanadu.”

“Charles Foster Kane?”

“Yes, that guy!”

“And now he does conspiracy theories as a professional journalist.”

“Well, he’s retired.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“He won a Pulitzer a few years ago!”

“You got nominated once for your retelling of the Noodle Incident. That doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“What if I’m right, though? That there’s a government conspiracy?”

“Just saying those words makes this feel more ridiculous.”

“But what if I’m right?”

Susie groans and turns to rest her head against the wall. “Where does he live?”

“New York. We can get there today if we drive hard.”

Susie seems to be counting to 10.

“You’re taking me to Broadway when this is over.”

“What? No way.”

“And Mount Rushmore.”

“No.”

“Or I’m calling our parents.”

“. . . Fine.”

-X-

_ Joyce Byers is well aware of the fact that most people in town think she’s crazy. It’s a perfectly reasonable conclusion. _

_ Sometimes, she isn’t sure if they’re wrong. _

_ When Donald had left her with a copy of self-help guide for people possibly suffering from psychiatric disorders, she had dumped it into her garbage without a second thought. Now, as she goes digging through last night’s trash, she wonders if she might not need it. _

_ She pulls the crumpled pages from the trash can. There’s a small smudge of ketchup – probably ketchup, hopefully – that she wipes away with her finger. She opens it to the second page, where it lists symptoms. There’s a picture of Nancy Reagan smiling obnoxiously at her, with a list of terms and short descriptions listed below the image. One of them says “paranoia”. _

_ At the bottom of the last page, they’ve left a national hotline for people who think they might need help. _

_ She picks up the phone. _

_ It’s surprisingly tempting to try to call the number. To push off some of the insanity filling up her life and say that it’s just in her head. She reminds her sons, every few days at dinner, as gently as she can, that she’s there for them if they ever need to talk to her about something. _

_ Except neither of them are getting the message, because both of them are really obviously keeping things from her. They think they’re good at hiding things, but they’re really, really not. At least, not from her. _

_ And then there’s the small matter of the other fucking dimension that she clearly remembers taking a walk through. If she imagined that, she doesn’t want to think what that means for the state of her subconscious. _

_ She doesn’t need a fucking shrink. She raised two sons without Lonnie. When everyone else thought Will was dead, she  _ found _ him.  _ She  _ found him. _

_ Well, she had a little help . . . _

_ Suddenly, she starts punching keys, because she’s going to kill something if she can’t talk to someone. If he believes her, then that at least means she isn’t completely nuts. If he doesn’t – _

_ The phone starts ringing and she presses it to her ear.  _ What if he isn’t home? _ she wonders, but there’s a click. _

_ “Hello?” _

_ “Jim?” _

_ “Oh, hey, Joyce. Is there something wrong?” _

_ “Jim, I’m going to say something. It might sound a little crazy, but can you just promise me you’ll listen till the end?” _

_ “Uh, sure.” _

_ “I think something’s going on with the lab again.” _

_ “Hey, Joyce –” _

_ “Till the end, dammit! Have you noticed all the plumbers coming into town lately?” _

_ “Well, yeah, it’s time for a state inspection. You saw the announcement in the paper, didn’t you?” _

_ “OK, how come I’ve never heard of these before?” _

_ “You never cared about plumbing before?” _

_ “Hopper, the state never cared about this town before. The state didn’t even remember this town existed before last year.” _

_ “Joyce –” _

_ “Don’t interrupt me, Hop!” _

_ “Joyce, I really need to go.” _

_ Click. _

-X-

In the morning, El wakes up before either Calvin or Susie, both of whom, despite being so tense that they had thought they wouldn’t sleep for a week, manage to wake up on the couch in the morning with El staring at them curiously. Susie’s face is pressed into Calvin’s neck, while Calvin spits out a few strands of Susie’s hair.

They’re both immediately red-faced and jumping to opposite ends of the couch while El watches the two of them like she’s discovered a brand new species of bird with an extremely confusing mating dance.

Calvin decides to grab some food this time and Susie hurriedly packs up the few things they took out of their bags. She’s putting away their toothbrushes when she sees El sitting cross-legged on the floor. A pillow is hovering in the air in front of her as she gazes intently at it.

Trying very hard not to make any noise, Susie puts the toothbrushes away and walks over to El. She tries to figure out how to word this. She lays a hand on the girl’s shoulder and starts, “El . . .”

That’s as far she gets before the door slams open and Calvin barges in announcing, “FOOD!”

The pillow drops immediately.

“Whoa,” Calvin says, his finger raised, “was she just . . .”

Susie nods.

A grin breaks over his face. “Man, that’s cool! Hey, I wonder how heavy she can lift.”

Susie shoots him a pointed glare.

“What?”

“Don’t you think, Calvin, that maybe we should keep this quiet for now? Avoid attracting attention? Not carrying out weight-lifting contests?”

Calvin rolls his eyes. “It was just an idea. Anyway, we’re good to go, right?”

“Yes,” Susie replies. Calvin grins again and grabs one of the two bags lying on the floor and heads down the stairs. Susie grabs the other.

As El starts to stand up, Susie leans down to her. “Listen, El,” she starts hesitantly, “just so you know, that think you do with your mind?” She waits until El nods slowly before going on, “Could you not do that for a little bit? We don’t want to make anyone curious.”

“Bad people,” El whispers.

“Right,” Susie nods, although she has no idea what El’s talking about. Actually, the words and the way El says them sends an odd feeling of uncertainty crawling at the back of her neck. “We don’t want any bad people getting curious.”

El nods, once, sharply, and turns to follow Calvin.

They drive for hours, while Calvin and Susie keep up a steady stream of banter passing between them. El says nothing and a few times, Susie forgets that she’s there.

Slowly, the shores of Lake Erie disappear. The lake lasts a little longer, hanging onto the horizon as a single length of gleaming blue that stretches as far ahead of and behind them as they can see. It never really stops, just keeps going and shrinking and going and shrinking until it’s suddenly less than a point in the distance. Eventually, they head further inland and it thins out bit by bit until Susie can’t see it even if she squints.

Ohio itself seems largely a resolutely flat country, mainly fields of dirt and grass, with a few forests, towns, and cities to break up the monotony. It just goes on and on and on . . .

They pass a sign that says “Welcome to New York!”

_ Thank god for the sign _ , Susie thinks. The landscape of New York is so similar to Ohio that if it hadn’t been for the sign, she wouldn’t have noticed that anything had changed.

Calvin seems to be having a similar thought, because he turns to her and says, “Isn’t New York famous for skyscrapers?”

“That’s the city, idiot, on the coast.”

“Oh. No skyscrapers until then?”

“Basically.”

“Huh. Funny, isn’t it, that we never think about New York having grassland?” He gestures out the window with one hand. “I mean, it’s like the city of New York is just everything we know about the words, New York, you know?”

“I know what you mean. Like how you know that the entire state of New York isn’t just one city, but –”

“Right. I mean, there are probably people who live in New York who don’t live in a city, but do they exist? It’s like Indiana. I mean, if I held a gun to your head and asked you to find Indiana on a map, could you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re you. Shut up.”

“No, but I seriously do get what you mean. There are probably people living in Indiana and working there and maybe even dying there, but how often does the state of Indiana cross your mind, right?”

“Right. It’s as if every time you think about it, actually  _ think _ about it, it’s as if you’re rediscovering sections of the world and you think, how did I forget that part of the world existed?”

The conversation lulls for a second as they both look out their windows. Both of them have rolled the glass down and are enjoying the wind rushing through their faces. Between them, El has fallen asleep again. Given how emaciated she had looked the night before, Susie doesn’t blame her.

“You know,” Calvin starts, “when I was really young, I used to think my house was the whole world.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, I looked out the windows and stuff sometimes and if someone asked me, I could tell them that, yes, there was a place that was outside those windows, but it was as if the outside didn’t matter.”

“When did that stop?”

“When my parents started letting me run around in the backyard.”

“That makes sense.”

“And then I met other people that my parents invited over, like Uncle Max, and . . .”

“The world got bigger and your tiny little child mind was blown.”

“No, not really.” Calvin actually sounds thoughtful for once, which is, in Susie’s experience, a sign of something actually profound or a sign of imminent disaster. “It’s just that the world got a little bigger and I kept going, if that makes sense.”

“So when did the existence of Indiana shock you?”

“I don’t know, honestly. It was just, at some point I noticed that the world was getting too big for me. I looked back one day and I thought, I used to think I was the center of the universe, isn’t that cute?”

The conversation slows again, hanging between them on tenterhooks and waiting for someone to open their mouth.

“If it makes you feel any better, I felt the same way.”

“About Indiana?”

“No, Calvin, just, about life. I mean, there weren’t any chapters to my life, understand? I would just think back every now and then and laugh and think about how naïve and  _ young _ I used to be. I never felt like anything was changing, it just happened.”

“Oh, I don’t know. . .”

“Do you have some deep insight into my life to offer me?”

“Well, ninth grade. I mean, you just were just so intense about school after that year.”

“But that’s kind of what I was talking about. Like, I never, during the year, thought, ‘I want to be super good at school’.”

“Really?”

“Shut up. It was just, I started doing stuff like clubs and competitions, and people said I was good at it, so I just kept doing it and doing it. Then, at some point in junior year I looked back at my life and I realized that I had kind of locked myself into a certain course of life and I had never actually decided on that course. It just happened.”

“That’s kind of weird, actually.”

“How come?”

“Cause I remember my parents talking about you, and they would say stuff like, ‘That Susie just has her whole life figured out, doesn’t she?’ ‘I know! Calvin, why can’t you be more like her?’”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Susie says laughing.

“Hey, it wasn’t just my parents,” Calvin protests, but he’s laughing, too.

The laughter refuses to die down until several minutes have passed.

“Thing is, Calvin,” Susie says, her words tripping over themselves a little hesitantly, “there were times where I wondered if I wouldn’t have been happier doing your thing.”

“My thing?”

“That whole screw-the-system, devil-may-care kind of attitude.”

“Well, why didn’t you ever try it, then?”

“I thought about it, but I never  _ really _ wanted to try it out. It was just, somehow, that wasn’t exactly  _ me _ . Neither was school, not completely, but it was more me than skipping class would have been.”

“Hey, I stopped doing that!”

“Because I made you.”

Despite themselves, the two of them smile at that.

Up ahead, a sign announces that there is an automobile rest stop coming up in about half a mile.

“We should probably grab some food,” Calvin mutters.

-X-

_ “Mr. Owens?” _

_ “Chief Hopper. We understand you’ve been fielding some inquiries about our investigations.” _

_ “I told you, sir, I’ll handle them.” _

_ “And you’ve been doing an admirable job of that so far. However, we might need to revise some details of the deal.” _

_ “The hell do you bastards want this time?” _

_ “We think we might need to test the Byers boy –” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Hopper, please understand –” _

_ “Don’t even go there.” _

_ A pause. _

_ “We’ll be back.” _

-X-

They stop by at a McDonald’s. It isn’t by choice, necessarily, it’s just that it’s the only restaurant open at the car stop. So Calvin fills up the car engine while Susie goes to get food. El stands by Calvin and watches him curiously as he pumps gas from the Texaco station. He’s gazing just a little mournfully at the closed pizzeria by the McDonald’s.

“How?”

“What?”

The two of them look at each other, Calvin looking down and El looking up. “Oh!” he says as realization pops into his head. “You mean the gas pump. Well,” he scratches his head, “I’m actually not sure. I mean, there’s probably some kind of pump involved, probably related to pneumatics . . .”

He trails off as he sees the complete lack of comprehension on her face. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

She just keeps looking at him. Then she furrows her brow in concentration (Calvin surreptitiously looks around to make sure nothing sharp goes flying at him).

“Why do you need to use it?”

The words are slow and halting and almost painfully quiet, so Calvin has to lean over to hear them properly. There’s a sense that the words are tools that don’t get used very often, or children who have been bedridden for days and are trying to get feeling back into their legs.

“Well, we need it to fill the car’s engine with gas.”

Again, the lack of comprehension.

“You know, gas? For the engine? For the car?”

At the look on El’s face, Calvin starts to feel a sense of confusion begin to creep up on him. “I mean, you know what a car is, right?”

She slowly shakes her head.

“Oh.” Calvin drags his fingers through his hair, because he  _ really _ hadn’t considered this. “OK, so  _ this _ ,” here he pats the truck with his right hand, “is a car, right?”

El looks from his face to his hand, then back to his face. She raises a finger and points to the car. “Car,” she says.

Calvin nods.

She smiles. “Car.” This time, her voice sounds just a bit louder, closer to a normal speaking voice.

“Right,” Calvin says with a grin.

“This is a Car!” This time, her voice is almost proud.

“OK, complete sentences,” Calvin mutters. “That’s good.”

He glances around. There are two gas pumps by a tall sign that says Texaco. A little beyond, there is a little row of stores along a little road that ends in a small curve for cars that want to turn around. McDonald’s is the only one that’s open. Beneath the Texaco sign, a small convenience store sits low and squat, with long windows that afford Calvin a clear view inside. A single man sits behind a counter reading some paperback.

“El, could you stay here for just a second? I’ll be right back.” She nods in response to that.

The pump has finished filling the engine. He pulls out the pump and then grabs the receipt. Calvin walks over to the convenience store and pushes the glass door inwards. A little bell tinkles to announce his presence. The clerk doesn’t look up from his book. As Calvin walks closer, he sees that it’s a copy of a Robert Ludlum book.  _ The Bourne Identity _ .

“Hey,” Calvin announces loudly, trying to get the man’s attention. “Do you have any children’s books? The kind with lots of pictures?”

The man points a finger to an aisle at the end of the bookstore. His eyes don’t leave the page.

In the back, there’s a small stack of picture books, the type that are thin but wide and have seemingly hand-drawn images on the front cover. He grabs a few Dr. Seuss books, a worn copy of  _ The Giving Tree _ ,  _ The Very Hungry Caterpillar _ , and, from the bookshelf right above, three  _ Frog and Toad _ books. Just to be safe, he also a grabs a book about the alphabet. Then, he looks a bit higher and frowns.

Back at the counter, he drops his stack of books in front of the clerk, along with the receipt for the gas. The man finally puts his book away, leaving it face-down on the counter so that he can start tallying up the prices on his battered old cash register.

“You know,” Calvin starts awkwardly, “in the book section . . .”

“Yes?”

“You have a bunch of adult novels right above the children’s books.”

“Oh?”

“A bunch of  _ really _ adult novels,” Calvin repeats, trying to get his point across.

“And?” The man is putting the last number into the cash register.

“Well, any kid could see them.”

“No kid will see them,” the man replies. He grabs a piece of paper at the top of register and tears it off. He lays it down facing Calvin and puts a pen down.

“Well, why not? It’s right there.”

“No kid ever comes by here,” the clerk replies. “No one ever comes by here.” He taps the pen. “Sign, please.”

“Do people just not come around here?”

“If they didn’t come today, they probably won’t be here tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“Ruskies. You know, nowadays, the people in the Kremlin and the people in the White House can send missiles at each other across the world in twenty minutes.” The man snorts. “Bunch of pencil-pushers playing God.”

He taps the pen again. “Sign, please.”

Back outside, Calvin walks back over to the car, where El is standing by patiently. He pulls the driver door to the truck open and El steps inside, followed shortly by Calvin himself. A little self-consciously, he tries to make himself more comfortable in his seat. “El, do you know how to read?”

She just looks at him with questioning eyes.

“Do you know,” he pulls out his alphabet book ( _ Learn the Letters! _ the titles promises), “how to read this?”

She slowly lifts the cardboard cover to the first page. “OK,” Calvin murmurs as he reaches his hand to skip past the first few pages of the title, the publishing info, and a note for parents to get to the actual text, “like this.”

Her eyes travel down the page and her mouth opens a little, her lips curving here and there as if to shape words. She frowns and her face scrunches in concentration. For a few seconds, she just sits looking down at the page.

“A little,” she finally says.

“Do you want to try to read it?” Calvin asks.

This time, she nods rapidly.

Calvin grins at that, the smile effortlessly working its way to his lips. “Great!” he says. He looks up through the windshield and sees Susie finally walking out of the McDonald’s. There’s a grease stain on her shirt and a bag clenched in her left hand.

“El, give me second,” he says, though she doesn’t even look up from the book. He pushes open his side’s door, steps out, and starts walking to Susie. They meet about ten feet from the car.

“My God,” Susie snarls, “would it kill those people to clean their restaurant sometime this year?”

“Susie, we need to talk about El.”

“Calvin, this whole side trip was your idea –”

“Susie, just hear me out. I think . . . I think she might have been abused at some point.”

“What?” Susie asks sharply.

“Or at least raised somewhere . . .” He pauses. “Susie, she didn’t know what a car was.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. I’ve been thinking –”

“Before you get into your conspiracy theories –”

“She didn’t know what a car was! Tell me that’s not weird!”

Susie stops at that and looks back at their car, nibbling on her lower lip. Inside, El is sitting hunched over, reading her book.

“What’s she doing right now?”

“I went to convenience store and got her some picture books.”

“And?”

“She can read a little bit. A tiny bit. I mean, she’s struggling with this book about the alphabet I got.”

Susie chews on that for a little bit. She lets out a groan. “How much longer do we have until we get to New York?”

“Three or four hours.”

“And you’ve got the address.”

It’s a demand, not a question.

“I already told you I know where he is.”

Susie nods once, sharply and quickly, more to herself than to Calvin. “Right, let’s keep going. I think I’ll drive for a bit.”

“I’m really fine . . .”

“You’ve been driving for almost six hours. I’ll take over for a little bit.”

“No, it’s really fine –”

“Calvin?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll drive. Now eat your Big Mac.”

-X-

Calvin is sleeping with his face leaning into the glass. Susie has the paper (a map, she thinks) open and covering the dashboard. El sits with the papers (Pages? Book?) open on her legs.

“K,” she whispers, “for key. For king. For . . .”

She frowns, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth. “For . . .”

“Kangaroo,” a voice under Calvin’s seat whispers. “Kang-Gar-Ooh.”

“Kangaroo,” El whispers. “For kangaroo. Thank you.”

Susie glances at her oddly, but El ignores it.

From beneath Calvin’s seat, an orange-and-white-and-black head pops out and grins at her with sharp, sharp teeth. She’s not scared, though. He’s nice. “You’re welcome,” he says and licks a few crumbs off of the long hairs on his face.

“They’re called whiskers,” he mentions offhandedly, “and scurries back beneath the chair.”

“Whiskers,” El murmurs.  _ Something new _ .

-X-

_ Lucas is rubbing a bruise under his jaw. Since it got obvious that El left, Troy and James have started going after him and his friends again. Not as much as before, but they’re working their way back up. _

_ The radio by his bed crackles to life. “Guys?” Will’s terrified voice call out. “Guys? Is anyone there? Over.” _

_ Lucas grabs the radio and clicks it on. “I’m here. What’s the situation? Over.” _

_ “Our phone isn’t working anymore. My mom was trying to call the chief on it and it got cut off. Just a few minutes after that, some guys from Hawkins Electricity drove up the road.” _

_ “Shit,” someone interrupts. It takes Lucas a second to recognize Dustin’s voice over the crackle of radio. _

_ “My mom and my brother are outside yelling at them right now. What do I do? Over.” _

_ “Will!” It’s Mike this time. “Will! Are you still there? Over.” _

_ “Yes, I’m still here! Over.” _

_ “How many guys are there? Over.” Dustin, of course, being rational. _

_ “Just two guys,” at this, Lucas quietly breathes a sigh of relief, “wait, a police car just came up the drive. It’s the chief!” _

_ “What?” That’s all of them, basically. _

_ “Yeah, he just got out, he’s shouting at the electrical guys . . . oh crap.” _

_ “What?” Lucas practically screams.  _ I forgot the “Over,” _ he thinks, belatedly. _

_ “Three guys just jumped out of the back of the Hawkins Electricity van . . . Shit, they have guns!” _

_ “Run!” Mike yells. _

_ “Wait, they’ve got Jonathan on the ground, they’re handcuffing, shit, I need to help . . .” The voice gets dimmer. _

_ “Will, don’t!” Lucas roars. “They won’t hurt them, they just want you! Just run!” _

_ “But . . .” Will’s voice wavers. _

_ Everybody starts yelling at him, “RUN!” _

_ The radio suddenly clicks off. _

_ For a second, the three of them listen desperately to static, hoping to hear a voice. _

_ “OK,” Dustin announces, “I’m closest, so I’m going to stop by the Byers, OK?” _

_ “What?” Lucas demands incredulously. “No, that’s crazy.” _

_ “I’m just pulling through their woods, I’ll be fine.” Dustin clicks off, too. _

_ Then it’s just him and Mike, listening to the constant crackle. They stay perfectly silent for a minute. _

_ Then two. _

_ Then three. _

_ “Lucas,” Mike suddenly interrupts, “when you said Will’s mom and Jonathan wouldn’t get hurt, were you lying?” _

_ “I don’t know . . .” Lucas groans. “I just don’t know.” _

-X-

New York appears slowly but continuously. If Calvin imagines that the car is standing still, he can think of the city as a slow wave of houses and farms that slowly grows taller until, at some point, the fields disappear behind a mass of apartment blocks.

The skyscrapers had been visible as a blot on the horizon that gradually became more and more detailed as the road passed beneath them. They grow larger and larger until, all at once, Calvin is threading the truck in the streets between them and he, Susie, and El are all craning their necks to try and glimpse the top of the buildings. El’s mouth is slightly open in shock.

The awe lasts until they realize how fucked up the traffic is.

“Have we moved at all?” Susie demands. Her fingers are dancing along the edge of her window in frustration.

“It’s right before dinner, Susie. Everyone just wants to get home and eat dinner with their families.”

“Whatever. How far are we from the address, again?”

“Take a left as soon as we reach the intersection right there.”

“So, only a few more years.”

“How can traffic be this messed?”

“I don’t know, Calvin!”

El, meanwhile, has gotten bored with their petty bickering and is struggling through  _ The Cat in the Hat _ .

“How about we turn on the CD again?” Calvin suddenly asks.

“If I have to listen to  _ Sergeant Pepper _ one more time . . .”

“My dad has funny musical tastes.”

“Is he Beatles-exclusive or something?”

“Hey! There were a few ‘Elton John’s and ‘Billy Joel’s – Go! Green light! Drive!”

They just make the turn before the light flashes orange.

“All right, he should be number 7 on this street.”

“You sure this is the right street.”

“Yes, I’m sure. There, park right there.” Calvin points out an opening right by a beat-up Aston-Martin. Susie carefully obliges, slowly bringing the car to a stop.

“Nice maneuvering,” Calvin comments as he undoes his seat belt. When El looks up curiously, he nods and she starts climbing out. Despite their best efforts, they were never able to get her to agree to wear a seat belt.

“Calvin!” Susie hisses across the top of the car.

“What?”

“Are you really sure this is the right place?”

“Yes! Why?”

“Well . . .” Susie gestures around them. It’s a nice, upper-middle class neighborhood of clean, white New York apartments. “Look at it!”

“It’s nice, what’s your point?”

“I mean, isn’t he a crazy conspiracy theorist?”

“I told you he won the Pulitzer, right?”

“I reminded you about the Noodle Incident, right?”

“Won, not nominated. Hell of a difference.” Thinking that the discussion is over, Calvin starts walking up the stairs.

Behind him, he can hear Susie mutter, “I was expecting a slum.”

“Pulitzer Prize,” he reminds her over his shoulder. “Be polite.”

“Did you just tell me to be polite?”

“My God, call the press.”

“Did  _ you _ just tell me to be  _ polite _ ?”

At this point, Susie has managed to catch up to him on the short flight of stone steps so that they’re all standing in front the white wooden. Calvin feels something brush by his hand and looks down to see that El has grabbed it.

“It’ll be fine, El,” Susie reassures her. “I hope,” she grumbles under her breath.

Calvin resolutely ignores her and presses his finger to the doorbell. From inside the house, he can hear the clanging of the bell going off, followed shortly by a series of shuffling steps. The doorknob shakes for a second, then it swings inward to reveal a tall, slightly stooped-over man with tangled white hair that stretches down to his shoulders and a tiny pair of spectacles perched on his nose that he’s playing with.

“I’ve told you crows a million times,” he’s saying, “I don’t  _ want _ my soul saved! I’m perfectly happy going to hell, thank you very much . . .” He stops as he finishes arranging his glasses and looks at Calvin and Susie properly for the first time. He slowly raises a hand. His mouth works slowly.

“You’re not Mormons.”

“Uhh . . .” Susie looks to Calvin and he looks back at her in complete confusion. “No, sir.”

“Presbyterians?”

“Uhm . . .”

“Evangelists?”

“Well, I guess technically, but we don’t really practice . . .”

“Are you here to preach about the Greek Pantheon, then?”

“People do that?”

“You’re not here to preach to me?”

The three of them stand and look around in silence. Then the man’s face cracks open into a wide smile. “Well, in that case, I must apologize for my complete lapse in manners! Hello, Mr. . . .”

“Calvin,” Calvin finishes, reaching and accepting his proffered hand.

“Susie,” she says, taking his hand after Calvin.

“Jerry Thompson, but you probably knew that,” he declares with a chuckle “Oh, and this is . . .” He fixes his spectacles again and looks down, finally noticing El.

He freezes.

“My God . . .”

“Actually, we kind of need to talk to you about –”

“Say no more,” Thompson hisses as he grabs El’s hand and drags her into the house. “Well? Get in!”

Sharing a glance between each other, Calvin and Susie step into the house. Thompson spends a second looking around the street outside, his head leaning out the doorframe like a bird peering around looking for predators. Then, he quickly closes the door and begins setting his locks, of which, Calvin notices with a little alarm, there are three.

-X-

Well, _ Hopper reflects,  _ at least the kids aren’t here.

_ Jonathan had run off into the woods with Joyce and him shouting at him. Will hadn’t been found, so there’s something of a silver lining in this shit-heap. Of course, that still leaves him and Joyce in the back of a Hawkins Electricity van as DoE agents search the woods. _

_ Fuck. _

_ “So.” Joyce interrupts his train of thought. “Are we going to talk about,” she gestures to the inside of the van with flapping hand, “this?” _

_ “What do you want to talk about, Joyce?” Hopper asks with a groan. _

_ “First of all, how did you even know to come down to my house?” _

_ “I had a hunch.” _

_ “No!” Joyce practically shouts. “Don’t try to talk your way out of this, Hop. You knew something was going to happen.” _

_ “Joyce . . .” _

_ “You knew!” _

_ “OK, fine, I knew!” _

_ “Then how did you know?” She has a finger almost poking him between the eyes and Hopper can already tell his eyes are crossed. _

_ “Joyce . . .” _

_ “Hop, my kids are gone. I might’ve just been arrested. I think I deserve to know what the hell is going on!” _

_ “Joyce . . .” _

_ “Hop!” _

_ “I’m going to tell you, all right?” _

_ Joyce looks at him suspiciously, then slowly leans back into the flat bench set into the wall of the van opposite him. _

_ “After we got Will out of the Upside-Down, I made a deal with them. The Department of Energy. They . . . They told me that they would shut down the facility and move out of Hawkins.” _

_ “But . . .” Joyce presses. _

_ “I was supposed to cover up all the issues they had caused last year. Cover up the people who disappeared. Make death certificates. Say that the Holland girl had run off. Stuff like that.” _

_ “The plumbing was them, wasn’t it?” _

_ “Joyce, I was being bugged. I had to make them think that I was making sure that you wouldn’t investigate or call someone.” _

_ “But why the plumbing?” _

_ “They think . . .” Hopper pauses. _

_ “They think . . .” Joyce repeats. _

_ “They think something – I don’t know what – might have survived from last year. They think it’s in the sewers.” _

_ “Jesus Christ . . .” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “But why Will?” _

_ “I mean, he was in the Upside-Down for a while. They think he might brought some kind of . . . Some kind of infection back with him.” _

_ “Jesus Christ . . .” Joyce repeats. “All this was going on? This whole time?” _

_ “Joyce . . .” _

_ “He’s my son, Hop! My son!” _

_ Hopper groans and puts his head in his hands. “I know, Joyce. I know.” _

-X-

It turns out that once you get past the part about young evangelists (Preachers?) coming to his door, Mr. Thompson is apparently a really old-fashioned, respectable kind of guy. He has tea in his cupboard, for God’s sake. Tea!

“Thank you, Mr. Thompson,” Susie says cheerfully. Thompson has set Calvin, her, and himself up in the living room. He let El take the couch and even grab a quilted blanket. Right now, she’s about halfway through  _ The Cat in the Hat _ .

It annoys Calvin just a little bit how well Susie and Thompson are getting along. There are a row of pictures on the wall in the living room, most of them involving Thompson getting some kind of award or taking a picture with someone important-looking (“Oh, that?” he laughs when Susie asks about one of the pictures. “Yes, that’s Nixon. Shame how he turned out.”)

The problem is that Calvin had been hoping for someone a bit, you know, weirder. Someone who acted a little crazy. Someone who had posters on their walls about crazy mysteries made up of pictures and written confessions from crime scenes strung together with red tape like a spider-web and string tying pieces of the puzzle together held in place with pins and tape. Someone . . .

Someone a bit like him, but grown up.

“So,” he interrupts a bit loudly, “what about that one?” He points out the one picture on the wall that doesn’t have Thompson in it. A broken snow globe.

“Ah, that,” Thompson says with a twinkle in his eyes, which makes every warning signal in Calvin’s body scream “Nostalgia Time!” and tell him to flee.

“The one story I never managed to finish . . .” Thompson looks down at his cup, and he looks oddly embarrassed. “Well, that’s a story for another time. Right now, we have a breaking story in the living room! Grab your cups and follow me.”

_ Finally _ , Calvin thinks as Thompson leads them up a flight of stairs and down a hall to a small room that he makes him think  _ study _ .

Inside, Calvin looks around and grins, because  _ this _ is the kind of room he’d like to have someday.

The shades are tightly drawn over the windows, and on the wall opposite, over a dozen different newspaper pages in their entirety, along with probably about twenty or thirty smaller clippings, are taped down. There are highlight marks and circles and pen-drawn lines that cross between sheets to tie little notes of information together.

On another wall, a map of the country is set up, with little pictures of people and marker lines that connect them to certain cities.

Susie looks just a little discomfited.

“All right, here it is!” Thompson announces as he pulls a massive sheaf of papers held together by a rubber band out from a drawer. “My research on the Department of Energy.”

Now, even Calvin looks confused.

“This is related, right?” he asks.

“Oh, of course! But first, tell me, how did you meet the girl downstairs?”

“Well . . .” Susie starts. “The thing is . . .”

“We ran into her in a forest,” Calvin interrupts.

Thompson narrows his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Thompson peers at him for a few seconds more over his glasses, before looking away. “Well, I guess that makes as much sense as anything else these days.”

“Tell me about it,” Susie grumbles under her breath.

Thompson takes a moment to settle a little more comfortable into his chair in front of the two of them, giving Calvin a weird sense that he’s back in school and about to be lectured to.

“Now, can I assume that both of you are familiar with the CIA project MKULTRA?”

“That would be the one where they pumped people full of LSD, right?” Susie asks.

“Right. Now something that was uncovered late into the investigation, too late for it to have any bearing on the Supreme Court ruling, was that one of the subjects, Terry Ives, was pregnant at the time of the experiments.”

Susie winces at that. Quietly, Calvin reaches out and grabs her hand.

“Now, the pregnancy apparently resulted in a miscarriage, but what I noticed after I was cleaning out my office after the investigation had been declared closed was that only one doctor ever attested to seeing the pregnancy and only one doctor ever signed an affidavit. No nurses, no extra medical staff. I did a little following up and found out that the doctor in question, one Dr. Martin Brenner, while technically a doctor, was a researcher at the Department of Energy.”

“That’s not suspicious,” Calvin said sarcastically.

“Exactly. I followed this story on and off for a few years, until I got a call about a possible insider at the Department. I met him at a café in D. C. He gave me a video cassette that showed . . . experiments. Experiments with Eleven.” His voice dies off. “Now, I have no idea how much you know about the girl –”

“If . . . If you’re talking about . . . something a little supernatural,” Susie suddenly says, “then, yes, we know.”

“So, she can . . .”

“She can do some pretty amazing things,” Calvin says.

“Well, then . . .” Suddenly, Thompson breaks out laughing. “Well, that really is something, isn’t it?”

“But, sir,” Susie asks, “if you had this, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Well, because it was destroyed soon afterwards.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes, someone broke into my office the weekend after that and ransacked it. They didn’t take any money or anything, but I never saw that tape again.”

“Shit,” Calvin says.

“Quite. I’ve tried following this since, but my contact went quiet after that. Inquiries yielded nothing useful, until recently.”

“What happened?” By this point, Susie seems to have gotten at least a little interested in the story.

“Apparently there was an incident recently. There have been some major shake-ups at the Department, and someone named Dr. Desmond Owens was recently promoted. Odd, since he’s historically been a public relations liaison.” He stops.

“And then?” Susie prods.

“That’s as much as I know, I’m afraid. I paid a visit to Terry Ives once, but the poor woman seems incapable of human communication these days.”

“Oh.”

“So you don’t know where El comes from?” Calvin asks. “Where they . . . experimented on her?”

“El?”

“Eleven?”

“Afraid not.”

Calvin groans. “What about this guy, Owens, or the doctor, umm . . .”

“Brenner,” Susie supplies.

“Right. What about those guys?”

“Actually,” Thompson says, his eyes suddenly brightening, “I might have something. Both of those men formerly worked at a facility known as . . .” He’s rifling through his papers when he gives a shout of triumph and pulls a sheet out. “It’s actually not far from here. It’s called Montauk.”

-X-

_ Dr. Owens looks through the one-way glass. In one room, the police chief is trying to flick on his lighter. In the next one over, the Byers woman is pacing the room and periodically shouting at the glass. On a table outside, the chief’s gun is sitting next to all the keys, tools, and various implements that the security personnel felt could be used as a weapon. _

_ He can feel a headache coming on. _

_ “The police chief would be easy,” his aide is saying. “He’s been trying to clean himself up since last year, but we could make it look like a fatal relapse.” _

_ “That’s not ideal,” Owens says coldly. “Having the chief in our pocket gave us access to every potential investigation that the town could have mounted and the means to ward it off. He won’t be easy to replace.” _

_ “Sir,” the aide coughs – suddenly, Owens remembers his name, Jake – and says, “Would it actually make a difference? We’re going to be cleaning up soon anyway.” _

_ Owens takes a moment to wonder if he can go shopping for some new, smarter interns. Ones that have functioning brains. “The problem is that the clean-up itself needs to have the police’s authority behind it.” _

_ “We didn’t last time.” _

_ “Last time we could afford to bring down state MP’s and federal manpower. This time, with a Congressional investigation being threatened in D.C., the Department wants to get this done with as little fuss as possible. As little noise. And this is still going to be fodder for conspiracy theorists from now until the end of time.” _

_ The aide nods slowly. “What about Mrs. Byers?” _

_ “We could fake a car crash,” Owens muses. “She works late often, apparently, so we could just cut down a tree in a forest, crash their car in front of it, and leave her body there.” _

_ “The chief probably wouldn’t be too happy about that.” _

_ “Why not?” _

_ “Rumor in town is that they were dating.” _

_ “Any water to that theory?” Owens asks. _

_ “Probably not recently,” the aide replies. Behind the glass, Hopper has managed to light his cigarette. He takes a long drag on the cigarette, before letting the smoke curl out of the corner of his mouth. He’s turning his hat over in his hands. _

_ Mrs. Byers suddenly runs up to the glass and takes a swing at it with her chair. The distinct crash makes both Owens and his aide flinch. The chief pauses for a second, then seems to dismiss the sound and keeps turning the hat over. _

_ “We soundproofed those rooms, right?” Owens demands. _

_ “Yes, but that crash might have been a bit much,” the aide answers uncomfortably. _

_ Owens looks down at the table beside him. Besides Hopper’s gun, his badge glints darkly in the dim light. The burnished gold looks more like a dirty bronze down here. He picks it up and turns it over in his hand, allowing him to see the pin set in the back of the badge. Security had decided it counted as a concern. _

_ They jump again as the chair slams into the glass. _

_ “There was some speculation, however,” the aide continues, “that one of the Byers boys might have been the chief’s son.” _

_ “Well,” Owens states, “that would explain a lot of his actions last fall.” _

_ He puts the badge down and leans over to his aide. “Follow these instructions exactly,” he says. _

_ A short while later, he opens the door to Hopper’s cell. The man glances up at him but doesn’t bother standing. _

_ “Can I see your lighter?” Owens asks. _

_ Hopper tosses it to him, underhand. Owens catches it and reaches inside his coat for a cigarette of his own. He turns away from Hopper to light it. _

_ “Chief Hopper,” he says, “I think we can come to an agreement.” _

-X-

The next morning, after a somewhat fitful sleep in Thompson’s house (El had slept with Hobbes clutched in her arms), Thompson offers to drive them in his Aston-Martin. Actually, he insists, loudly and vehemently.

“This is a  _ story _ ,” he declares, with a slightly demented look in his eyes. “I fully intend to see it through to its end.”

Which is how Calvin and Susie find themselves being driven to the end of New York – literally, Montauk is located at the very eastern-most tip of the state, on a little spit of land jutting into the bay – by a former journalist that’s just a little demented. It’s OK, though, he’s the kind of demented that Calvin likes, all crazy ideas that tie together in weird ways and funny thoughts on life, the universe, and everything.

She isn’t saying it, but he can see Susie warming to him as well, if only because he seems to have genuinely useful life advice. (“See, if Susie is going to college, the best thing for the two of you to do is get an apartment nearby and have Calvin work a job while she’s studying. Then he can deadbeat around her house for the rest of his life!”)

El seems to like him as much as she likes anything. At least, she likes the way he cooks his Eggos. It turns out that she really, really likes Eggos.

Hobbes, who is currently lying curled up in Calvin’s backpack, refuses to pass judgement one way or the other, but Calvin hasn’t pressed him about it. He’s been unusually quiet lately, which should bother Calvin more than it does. It really should.

They can tell that they’re well on their way to Montauk when the land on both sides of them begin to fall away, sinking down below the surface of the ocean and giving way to glistening blue waves.

They pull off of the road about two miles into the island (technically, it’s a peninsula, but to Calvin it feels so disconnected from New York it might as well just be an island) and head down a series of winding roads until they see a long, low cement building set at the edge of the shoreline. There’s a chain-link fence surrounding it on sides, even on the dock that leads into the bay. Thompson leads the car into a parking lot.

“A parking lot?” Calvin is saying. “I mean, it’s a shady government agency that maybe, probably experimented on some kids, but they’ve got time to build a parking lot?”

Susie rolls her eyes as she takes off her sunglasses. “Just stay in the car, Calvin. Mr. Thompson and I are just going to ask them about the scientists, we’ll be back in a second. This shouldn’t take long.”

On the drive there, they had decided almost unanimously that Calvin shouldn’t be allowed in a government building when Susie was an option. She had relented when Mr. Thompson pointed out that he had been driving for almost three hours to get them there, but she had put her foot down rather firmly with Calvin.

_ Weird expression _ , Calvin thought. “Putting your foot down.” Doesn’t that kind of sound like you’re agreeing, since you’re putting your foot down on the gas pedal. Unless it’s the brakes.

Behind him, he can hear a shuffling noise as El opens another Dr. Seuss. Funny, he has a memory of kids as being loud, obnoxious distractions, but El is almost disturbingly quiet.

Then again, he might be biased because of his own childhood.

A finger taps on his shoulder. “What do you need, Hobbes?”

“Just thought you might be lonely.”

“I’m not lonely. I’ve got a perfectly important job, sitting here and making sure no one kidnaps El.”

“Sounds important.”

“That’s because it is.”

“Well,” Hobbes draws out the word. “I was wondering if you were up for a little adventure.”

“You mean like when you told me to go digging through a forest?”

“And wasn’t it worth it?”

Calvin opens his mouth to angrily tell him off, when he freezes and glances back at El. And he can’t really deny it. Because even if this whole series of events has been frustrating and confusing, he’s felt like was actually  _ doing _ something. Anything. He’s encountered mysteries and he’s traveled across states, and he’s sitting in front of a government office and he’s investigating conspiracies and he’s seen  _ superpowers _ and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t feel more alive than he’s felt in the twelve years that he was in school.

He closes his mouth with a click.

“So, there’s a gate around the corner that should be unlocked. If you just hop the motion sensor, you should be able to get inside the building.”

“What is ‘ham’?” El interjects..

Before Calvin can say anything, Hobbes replies, “Delicious.”

“Oh.” El turns back to her book.

“Wait . . .”

Hobbes looks back at Calvin as if just remembering that he’s there. “OK, I can explain.”

“She can see you!”

“Uh, yes.”

“SHE CAN SEE YOU!”

“Calvin, calm down . . .”

“Do you have any idea how many times I used to wonder if I was mentally ill? Do you have any fucking clue? DO YOU?”

“I can explain –”

“Yeah, I think you better!”

“But first, you need to get into the building.”

“What?”

“Look, I promise I’ll explain, all right? But first –”

“But?”

“If you go into the building, there’ll be a motion sensor. You need to hop it. Go down the hall until you get the door numbered 6. Are you following?”

“She can see you.”

“Are you following?”

“Motion sensor. Hall. Door number 6.”

“Right. There is going to be fax coming in. Grab it. After that, you need to go down the hall and take the stairs, not the elevator. That’s important.”

“Stairs, not the elevator.”

“Exactly.”

“And then I’m getting some fucking answers.”

“What is ‘fucking’?”

Calvin realizes that El has stopped reading and is looking up at the two of them, her eyes jumping between them like she’s watching a tennis match.

Calvin claps Hobbes on the shoulder. “You answer that,” he declares, and hops out of the car.

-X-

The officials in the building, as far as Susie can tell, have no discernible skills that would qualify them for a job except an exceptional ability to talk for minutes on end without actually saying anything. Right now, one of them is explaining that, while they would love to be able to help, at the moment they would have some trouble calling facility records to go looking for a Martin Brenner, since according to Regulation 6-B, it is policy to . . .

It’s almost a relief when the alarm goes off and they’re ushered out of the building, followed by hurried explanations of an “intrusion.”

Almost.

Because when they step into the lot, they don’t see Calvin sitting in the car.

“Oh . . .” Susie groans, putting her face in her hands.

“Now, now,” Mr. Thompson says as he pats her on the shoulder. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.”

“Right.”

They head over to the car, where, Susie is relieved to see, El is still sitting and reading, with Hobbes sitting next to her. “OK, let’s take a seat and ask her. Best if we act normally, though, so we don’t panic her.”

Mr. Thompson nods and he steps into the back of the car, while Susie steps into the driver’s seat.

“El, have you seen Calvin?”

“Yes.”

“Did he leave?”

“Yes.”

“When . . .”

She’s cut off by a loud snore. Next to El, Mr. Thompson has fallen asleep, with his glasses still resting on his nose.

“Are you kidding me?” Susie mutters.

“Sorry about that,” an unfamiliar voice smoothly interjects, “but I thought it was best to keep this private.”

Susie freezes, then, very, very slowly, turns her head.

To El’s left, a tiger is sitting upright in its chair. Its hands (no,  _ paws _ , Susie self-corrects) are folded on its lap and the end of a tail is twitching next to its feet. Two luminescent green eyes are staring back at her.

Susie opens her mouth. She closes it again. She feels a scream coming up through her throat. She chokes it down, then opens her mouth again. Gags on the air. (Dimly, she is aware of El staring at her oddly.) She closes her mouth, again, and then stares for a few seconds.

“Hobbes?”

The tiger grins. “The one and only.”

The only reason Susie doesn’t scream, in that exact moment, is that she isn’t sure she would be able to stop if she started.

Hobbes raises his hands. “I know you probably have a lot of questions, but we really need to get going. I told Calvin to take the stairs because an undercover cop was there, which means he’s probably at the police station right now, instead of the government’s dungeon, which means we can probably pay bail –”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” Susie screams.

Hobbes flinches, El jumps back with her eyes widened, and Mr. Thompson twitches in his sleep. “Right,” he mutters sheepishly, his hands awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m not used to talking to people who aren’t Calvin.”

“Calvin?”

“I promise I’ll explain everything shortly, but for now, we need to get to the police station, OK?”

Susie puts a finger to her ear, half-expecting to feel brain fluid dribbling out. She wonders if Calvin’s insanity is contagious.

“Susie,” the tiger says, leaning forward, “please.”

-X-

_ Nancy could hear the crackling of the radio from Mike’s room going on for almost an hour, well after dark while her parents watched late-night shows below. _

_ Finally, the radio clicks off and she hears his door open. He knocks on her door. “Come in!” she shouts. _

_ Mike walks in and Nancy is struck by just how terrible he looks. His hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in days (weeks would be closer to the mark) and there are slight bags under his eyes. “Will and Jonathan are in trouble,” he says without preamble. _

_ “Wait, what? What kind of trouble?” _

_ “The kind from last year,” he replies, and Nancy feels something cold and clammy clench in her throat. _

_ “Shit,” she whispers. _

_ “Just about. Nancy,” he says as he steps forward, “we’re heading out to the forest. Dustin knows where the two of them.” _

_ “Well, can I help?” Nancy demands. _

_ “I need to climb out your window, and I need you to cover for me with Mom and Dad.” _

_ “OK,” Nancy says, slowly shaking her head, “OK, I can do that.” _

_This doesn’t feel real. The moment Mike said “Last year,” Nancy has had the odd sensation of swimming through honey, the light distorted and the air heavy and sticky. It doesn’t feel real. It_ can’t _be real._ It can’t be.

_ “Hey,” she says as Mike pushes her window open. “You keep me in the loop, OK? No more secrets, right?” _

_ He hesitates, then nods. “OK.” _

_ Then he scurries like a squirrel and he’s gone. _

_ Nancy turns back to her desk, but the words just float irritatingly before her eyes. It’s been hard since last summer to care about the difference between metonymy and synecdoche, and now it’s impossible. _

_ She collapses onto her bed and stares at the ceiling. She counts, very slowly and deliberately, to a hundred. Then, she does it again. _

_ Finally, she reaches for the phone by her nightstand and dials a number. _

_ “Hello?” _

_ “Steve.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s happening again. I need you to come by.” _

_ There’s a moment of quiet crackling from the other end of the call. Then, he says, “All right, I’m heading over.” The line cuts. _

_ Nancy stands up uncertainly, her eyes passing over to her vanity. There are still pictures of her and Barb taped there. She walks over, looking down at the two of them smiling. _

_ (“Gone!” the girl screams, and Nancy’s heart breaks. “Gone! Gone!”) _

_ “I’ll make this right, Barb,” she whispers. “I will. I promise.” _

_ From below, the doorbell rings. _

Steve shouldn’t have been able to get here this quickly _ , she thinks. She hurries down the stairs anyway and stops at the top just as her mom opens the door. _

_ The chief is standing there, arms crossed over his chest. “Sorry to bother you, Karen,” he says as he steps into the house. He looks oddly distracted. “Are your kids here?” _

-X-

There’s another guy in the cell over, Calvin knows. He had caught a glimpse of him as they were leading him in. He doesn’t think talking between prisoners is exactly encouraged, but he’s been sitting here for almost five minutes with nothing to do.

“Hey!” he shouts. “Can you hear me?”

Silence. Then: “Yes.”

Deep voice. Baritone voice. (Calvin is pretty sure that’s how you use that word.) Really weird accent, though. He’s not sure how to place it.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. Got bored.”

There aren’t any police officers in this part of the station, Calvin notes. Too small of town, if he had to hazard a guess why. Just not enough officers.

“So, where are you from? South?”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. The accent doesn’t sound Canadian. Doesn’t sound Southern, either, now that I think about it.”

“What business is it of yours, where I come from?”

“I’m bored. I made it my business.”

“You _ made _ it your business?”

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

“But it isn’t your business.”

“I said it is.”

“The nature of my business is that it is mine.”

“Well, I’m bored.”

“Then where are you from?”

“Ohio.”

“Specifically.”

“Around Cleveland.”

“And how did you come this far?”

“Road trip. With my sort-of girlfriend.”

“Sort of?”

“It’s complicated.”

“She is or she isn’t.”

“It’s just complicated, OK?” Calvin is starting to regret this.

“”It really isn’t. She is or she isn’t.”

Calvin chews on that for a little bit. “I guess if I had to say, I’d say she is. Though I should probably ask her opinion on that.”

“Heads or tails?”

“What?”

“If we tossed a coin right now, would you say ‘heads’ or ‘tails’?”

“Do you have a coin right now?”

“It doesn’t matter. I can toss one later. Heads or tails?”

“What do I win?”

“Everything.”

Calvin shrugs. “Heads.”

“I see.” The man sinks into silence. Calvin doesn’t try to talk to him again.

They sit very quietly for some time before the door finally opens. An officer walks over to him and unlocks his door. “You’re free to go, for now,” she says. “Your friends paid your bail. Would you like your jacket back?”

“Yes, please,” he says hurriedly. She tosses it to him and, trying to look as un-suspicious as possible, Calvin quickly feels the inner pocket. The fax is still folded up there.

-X-

Susie sits in the chair in the waiting room for the station as quietly as she can. In front of her, Hobbes is pacing back and forth, sniffing the air. No one else seems to see him.

Hobbes finally growls. “We need to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

Susie sighs. “Any reason why?”

“Look at my tail!” It’s turned bushy, the hairs all sticking up. “It’s a bad sign. My tail always goes like that whenever Calvin’s about to do something stupid.”

“Shouldn’t that be all the time?”

“Ha. Ha.” Hobbes spits out.

Outside, the night’s moon is hanging in the sky, casting stark shadows in the room.

Finally, the door behind the clerk’s desk swings open and a female officer leads Calvin out. He’s rubbing his wrists. “I assume you have all the paperwork,” the officer asks.

Susie nods.

“All right, here you go,” the officer says and pushes Calvin away.

As soon as they’re outside, Hobbes jumps up to Calvin. “Please tell me you didn’t talk to the man in the cell next to you.”

Calvin shrugs. “Just a little bit.”

Hobbes freezes. “All right,” he says, “Susie, get in the car and drive exactly where I tell you to. Calvin?”

Calvin waves the folded fax at Hobbes.

Susie frowns. “Won’t we get in trouble for jumping bail?

“Don’t worry,” Hobbes growls darkly. “That won’t matter by tomorrow night, at the latest.”

-X-

They end up stopping at a small rental house by the beach, where the surf pounds on the sand and moon leaves a quiet reflection floating on the water.

“Are you sure about this? It looks inhabited,” Susie hisses at Hobbes.

“And since when can you put people to sleep?” Calvin demands. He’s waving his hands in front of Mr. Thompson’s face, who steadfastly snores. El has fallen asleep beside, though she’s snoring much more quietly.

“Everything,” Hobbes almost shouts, “will be explained tomorrow, but right now you guys need to sleep! Just go up to the front door and tell them you need a place to rest for the night. Offer them some money; it’ll be fine.”

Susie and Calvin share a glance. Then they both step out of the car at the same time.

At the door to the rental, Susie is the one who finally knocks. Surprisingly, it’s a fairly young girl who answers.

“Hi!” Susie says. “Can we talk to your parents?”

“Do you guys need a place to sleep?” the girl asks.

“Uh, yes,” Susie answers with a worried look at Calvin.

“Are you guys going to steal anything?”

“Nope,” Susie promises.

“You guys should be fine, then.” The girl turns her head over her shoulder and shouts for her parents. Then she turn back to Susie and Calvin. “My name’s Sally, by the way. Sally Jackson.”

-X-

_ If you bike about half a mile down Mirkwood from Mike’s house, take a turn to the left into the forest, find a tree that has a few letters of Quenya lightly carved into the bark, and follow the stream that passes through its roots far enough, you’ll find a small clearing in the forest where the trees curve overhead to provide a dense canopy. _

_ Mike had found this a few years ago shortly after his ninth birthday. It was a pretty good birthday present, given that his dad had forgotten to get him anything. _

_ This is where they find Will. _

_ “What about Jonathan?” Lucas asks as soon as he and Mike pull up. _

_ “I don’t know,” Will mutters with a cough that racks his whole body. He looks likes shit right now, which Mike supposes is only appropriate, given the circumstances. _

_ “I saw him get away,” Dustin announces from behind them. He’s digging through the bag of snacks that he had asked Lucas and Mike to bring. “Ooh! Mars Bars!” _

_ “How can you think about that right now?” Mike demands. _

_ “What? If we’re going to be stuck out here for a while, we’re going to need to keep our strength up.” _

_ “We’re not going to be stuck out here for a while,” Lucas announces. “The chief was there, remember? That means that the police aren’t on their side.” _

_ “Who even is ‘they’ right now?” Will asks. _

_ “Hawkins Laboratory,” Mike replies promptly. “It has to be them.” _

_ “I thought they were shut down,” Dustin says. _

_ “Well, obviously not,” Lucas shoots at him. _

_ “OK, whatever!” Mike shouts as bickering threatens to break out. “Back to the part about the police. Does that mean that we can try going to the station?” _

_ “We could try,” Lucas says with a shrug. “Unless you guys have a better idea.” _

_ “Let’s not rush into this,” Dustin replies. “I mean, I didn’t stick around, but I think that the lab guys might have gotten the chief. There were definitely more of them than him.” _

_ “Isn’t that a good thing?” Will asks. “I mean, the police should notice if the chief goes missing, right?” _

_ “You mean Powell and Callahan? We could probably set fire to their car in front of the station and they wouldn’t notice,” Dustin retorts. _

_ “Well, what do you think we should do?” Lucas shouts at him. _

_ “Something that isn’t stupid!” _

_ “Uh, guys?” Will says quietly. He pushes himself to his feet from sitting on the ground. _

_ “Like what?” _

_ “I don’t know!” _

_ “You don’t know?” _

_ “That’s why we need to think about it!” _

_ Out of the corner of his eye, Mike sees Will starting stumbling towards the edge of the clearing. _

_ “Will?” he calls worriedly. Behind him, Dustin and Lucas quiet. _

_ “I’m fine,” Will calls back. “I’m fine, I’ve just got a little cold –” _

_ A sudden, massive coughing fit cuts him off. He staggers and grabs a branch for support as the other three boys immediately run up to help him stand. Will’s cough turns to gagging and he stays bent over slightly. He chokes and spits, and Mike stares down at the forest floor. _

_ A small black slug wriggles on the ground. _

-X-

Calvin wakes with a jerk as he hears the front door of the cabin click open.

He’s lying on the floor wrapped in a blanket. Susie got the couch, while Mr. Thompson had been lain down in the guest room and El slept in Sally’s bed. Sally slept with her parents.

Calvin glances up from the floor. The couch is empty. He sighs and reaches for his jacket.

Susie is sitting on the front porch of the beach house, looking out at the Long Island Sound. The sun has just begun to peak over the horizon, so dimly that all Calvin can see is the vague colorless hint of light that glints through the clouds.

He sits down next to her.

They sit like that for a while, watching the sun fight its way past the line of the ocean. Slowly, ever so slowly, a hint of color begins to seep into the dawn. First, hint of pink that fades into the gray that surrounds it.

That’s when Susie says, “So, where are we?”

“Montauk.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Hm,” Calvin hums noncommittally. “I really don’t know. Isn’t that why we’re on this trip?”

“We’re on a road trip away from home to figure out where we are?”

“Just about, yeah. My description was a lot less poetic, though.”

“Your description?”

“In my head.”

“Oh.”

They pause for a little longer while the sun darkens the sky from pink to a shade of red that streaks through the sky. The skyline is glowing orange against the blue sky.

“So, did it help?”

“Did what help?”

“The trip,” Susie clarifies. She has a seashell or something in her hand and is turning it over in her fingers. “Did it help you figure out where we are?”

Calvin shrugs. He reaches down from the steps and picks a seashell of his own from the sand. He wonders how far the tide reaches if he can find seashells here. “It’s a work in progress.”

“You know,” Susie says, and he can tell not to interrupt. She has that tone of voice that suggests that she’s talking more to herself than him. “I used to think I knew where I was. Where I was supposed to be. What I was supposed to be doing.”

She sighs and looks up from the seashell to the rising sun. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

She looks back down at her seashell. There is a moment of silence.

“Because . . .” Calvin gently prods.

“I saw Hobbes,” Susie says, and it’s as if some floodgate inside of her has broken. “I used to imagine Mr. Bun – I mean, God, isn’t that a stupid name, now that I think about it? – I used to imagine that he was alive, too. Except that eventually I realized that he wasn’t. And I gave him away to a cousin about five years younger than me, and by that point, I wasn’t really sorry to see him go. Just a doll, right? Except I can still remember those times that I pretended that he was actually alive and I don’t know if he really was, or if I was just imagining. Hell, I still don’t know if this just means that I’ve gone off the deep end. I mean, I’m seeing Hobbes! Walking! And talking! With his mouth! Doesn’t that mean I’m crazy?”

The silence stretches on for a few seconds. Calvin knows that she wants him to answer her, in some way, but he really has no idea how. There are a few things he could do. Lie. Comfort her. Reassure her that she’s hallucinating.

Or tell the truth.

“You know,” Calvin begins, hesitantly. He’s not used to talking about Hobbes as  _ he _ knows Hobbes, at least, not without getting some weird looks. “I had the same question in my head for a while. Like, starting around third grade, when I realized that no one else could see Hobbes except me.”

“Is that around the time you ran from class screaming, ‘My whole life is a lie’?” Susie asks with a laugh.

“Yeah,” he snorts with a chuckle. “I mean, whole existential crisis, right? Am I crazy? Is everyone else blind? Can everyone else in the world be wrong and I be right? If that’s true, is it different from me being crazy?”

He pauses. He traces one of the lines in the seashell with his fingernail, follows the smooth curve of the calcium carbonate (He is inordinately proud that he remembers that detail from biology).

“There was a point where I wondered if everyone had a Hobbes, like maybe you still talked to Mr. Bun, and the reason I didn’t know about was because everyone else thought they were just crazy. Like, maybe we were all seeing the same thing whenever we went home and if we just talked about it, we could see that no one in the world was actually crazy.”

“What stopped you from thinking that?”

“You gave Mr. Bun away.”

“Oh,” Susie says, her voice suddenly very, very small.

“Yeah. But the thing is, whenever I asked Hobbes about it, he always managed to find some way to change the topic. Except once. I asked why he was still around, and he just sighed and said, ‘Because you still want me around, idiot.’ And then he threw a water balloon at me and said, ‘Does that feel imaginary?’”

“Water balloon?”

“Calvinball.”

“Calvinball?”

“I’ll tell you some other time,” Calvin says. “The point is, I figure Hobbes is still around because . . .”

“Because you still want him around. Because you don’t want him to go. Because you don’t want to grow up.”

“You make me sound like Peter Pan,” Calvin grumbles.

Susie laughs, a completely pure, unfiltered, whole laugh that fills porch and Calvin’s heart, and suddenly he starts laughing to and they’re both laughing and holding onto each other, because, honestly? That metaphor kind of works.

Eventually, they have to stop.

Its several minutes later, as the sun finally completely breaches the horizon, that Susie asks again, “Calvin, where are we?”

Calvin turns to look at her. He sees her outlined against the sky, the edge of the shore going on forever behind her. The rosiness of the sky is reflected in her eyes and paints her skin with a slight flavoring of red. Her eyes are looking out into the dawn like she’s planning how to conquer it, and his breath catches in his throat.

She turns at the noise to look at him.

“We’re in the same place we’ve been,” he whispers as his hand reaches out to hers, “since you crushed my head under a snowball bigger than yourself, and I looked up and realized that you were the most amazing thing I had ever seen.”

He leans towards her and she leans towards him . . .

A scream shatters the morning quiet.

The two of them sigh and get up to check on the house.

-X-

_ “Nancy,” Hopper says gruffly. “Could you step outside for a second? I need to talk to you privately.” _

_ At those last few words, he shoots a pointed look at her mother. Nancy hesitates for a second at the stairs before coming down. As soon as she steps outside, he closes the door with her mother still in the house. _

_ “Where’s your brother?” he demands. _

_ “I’m sorry?” _

_ “The boy. Michael. Mike Byers. Your brother!” _

_ “Oh, he’s upstairs,” Nancy says as nonchalantly as she can. “He’s taking a nap right now, so if you could come by later . . .” _

_ “You’re lying.” _

_ “Excuse me?” _

_ “He’s with Will, isn’t he?” _

_ “Why would he be with Will?” _

_ “Where’s your brother?” Hopper practically shouts. _

_ “Not your business!” Nancy yells back. _

_ They stand there, silent, at an impasse. _

_ Finally Hopper snaps, “What if I just go to your mom and ask her to get Mike for me, huh?” _

_ Nancy struggles to keep the fear off of her face. “Why do you even want Mike, anyway?” _

_ “I just need to know if he’s with Will Byers.” _

_ “Can’t you just stop by his house?” _

_ Hopper sighs and looks away from her. His eyes dart up and down the street, making him look more than a little like a deer that’s being hunted. _

_ “That’s not an option right now.” _

_ Nancy chews through the possible meanings of that statement, before her mouth drops open. “What the hell happened?” _

_ “Not your problem.” _

_ From behind him, a car rolls to a stop by her house. Steve’s head pops outside. “Hey, Nancy!” _

_ He looks fairly put-out by the presence of the chief as he steps out and runs up to her. _

_ “Hey, Steve, what’s going on?” _

_ He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her over to him. Before she can protest, he leans over and hisses, “Jonathan Byers is hiding out at my house. He says that his mom and the chief were kidnapped by the people from the facility from last year. Nancy, what the  _ fuck _ is going on?” _

-X-

“It’s alive!” Mr. Thompson is whimpering as he points at Hobbes. “It’s alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Susie says to Mr. Jackson, who is standing by the doorway with a pan and a wary expression of his face. His wife and daughter, she notes, are still in their room. Probably so they don’t see him hitting an unstable old man in the face with a chunk of cast iron.

“He just got off his meds, he gets like this sometimes,” she explains (well, “explains”) as she pulls an apologetic face. “I should have remembered that he gets forgetful about those lately.”

“Can’t you see it? Alive!”

Thank God he sounds so crazy. Susie and Calvin step into the room and close the door behind them. Susie walks over to Mr. Thompson, grabs his face, pulls it over, and looks him directly in the eyes. “Mr. Thompson, breathe slowly,” she orders.

As pupils begin to focus on her, his breathing slows.

“We can see him, too,” she says, very carefully, enunciating every word. “You’re not crazy.”

Hobbes sighs and says, “Well, don’t worry, you’ll all get an explanation today. Calvin at least has waited long enough.”

“Christ on a cross, it  _ talks _ , too?”

-X-

Sally is teaching El a card trick as the big people eat breakfast. There’s a plate of toast, another with jam and a knife, a stack of napkins, and a deck of cards between them. Sally is explaining that El should wipe her hands after eating so that she doesn’t get any jam on the cards.

“They’re my only deck,” Sally explains. El nods solemnly and very carefully, very neatly wipes her hands before grabbing a random card.

“OK,” Sally says, “now look at the card, but don’t tell me what it is. Do you remember the names I taught you?”

El nods, then sets the card down on the floor.

Suddenly, Hobbes walks by and snags the last piece of toast, uncovering two chocolate chip cookies. They have blue chocolate chips set in them.

“My mom likes to leave those as a reward for finishing breakfast,” Sally explains, seeing Hobbes’s confused expression.

“And the blue?” he asks.

“Oh, that’s just something she likes to do,” Sally says with a shrug. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Hobbes,” he replies, sticking his hand out.

She frowns when their hands meet. “Have we met before?” she asks.

He pauses and looks her up and down. “Maybe in another life?”

“Oh,” she says. “Can my parents see you?”

He laughs at that. “No, so don’t tell!”

“Why not?”

“Or they’ll get jealous!”

Sally nods gravely. “I understand,” she declares.

“It’s a dangerous power, being able to see me,” Hobbes says. “The fact that you can is proof that you’re destined for great things.”

They manage two seconds before breaking down laughing. “But seriously,” he says wiping tears from his eyes. “Don’t tell them.”

“What’s this?” El asks suddenly, holding up her card to Hobbes. He glances down, then whispers the name in her ear.

“OK, got it?” Sally asks. As soon as El nods, she grins and continues: “So, now you put the card back anywhere you want, then  . . .”

-X-

_ “Holy shit!” Dustin yells as the three boys all instinctively grab Will and pull him from the squirming length of black on the ground. They stop about three feet from the slug and stand silently, gaping at the . . . _

Abomination _ , Mike decides. That seems about right. _

_ It’s about an inch long, pitch black, and a little shiny in the light of the late afternoon. It wriggles, its tips seemingly searching for something in the dirt. As they watch, it bunches itself and began to worm its way, painfully slowly, across the ground. _

_ “So,” Mike says cautiously, “is this new?” _

_ When he turns to look at Will, the other boy looks away, unable to meet his eyes. To Will’s three friends, that’s as good as an outright confession. _

_ “Will.” This time, it’s Lucas. “How long has this been happening?” _

_ When Will doesn’t respond, Dustin says, rather insistently, “Will?” _

_ “It’s been going on since I got back from . . . you know.” His voice is quiet in the still air of the forest. _

_ “The Upside-Down?” Lucas asks. _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “Will, is there anything else we should know about?” Dustin says softly. _

_ Will stands still and silent as the forest chirps and whistles around him. His hands clench and unclench rhythmically. Then: _

_ “Sometimes, after I throw up one of the slugs, I’ll . . .” He frowns, searching for the right words. “It’s as if, just for a second, I’ll be back there.” _

_ Mike starts suddenly, his eyes wide, and he leans over to Will, his voice tight. “You mean the Upside-Down?” _

_ Will looks at him in surprise at the burning  _ desperation _ in his voice and nods. _

_ Mike lunges forward and grabs Will by the shoulders. “Do you ever see anyone else there? Like maybe a girl, or a boy, with shaved hair?” _

_ “What?” Now Will just sounds confused. “It’s the Upside-Down! There’s no one there!” _

_ Mike pushes him away with a growl and marches away from the group, out of the clearing and into the woods. _

_ Behind him, he can hear footsteps crackling on the forest floor. _

_ “Dustin, stop following me.” _

_ “Listen, man, I get that this is probably a shock for you, but –” _

_ “But what?” _

_ “I get that you’re a little obsessed with Eleven –” _

_ “I’m not obsessed!” _

_ “Uh, yes, you are!” _

_ “She was my friend, OK? Sue me if I care that she might be alive!” _

_ “Hey!” Now Dustin sounds hurt. “She was our friend, too!” _

-X-

The Jacksons insist on leaving them with several chocolate chip cookies (blue, of course) wrapped in napkins before they set out on the road. Susie leaves them with as much cash as they can afford and Sally hugs El before they go. She gives El a phone number and Calvin promises her that she’ll explain what that is soon enough.

Then they’re on the road, which is when Hobbes begins giving directions.

He leads them down dirt roads, winding paths that seems barely suitable for cars, gravel trails that leave Calvin worried that they’re going to wreck the car (Mr. Thompson waves the concern away, saying “It’s just a car”), and, occasionally, an actual highway.

They leave Montauk and Long Island behind, then the ocean slowly recedes, then they’re driving through fields of grass. For a while, they can see New York City to their left, then that fades into the background as well. They’re heading deep into the state, eventually crossing in Pennsylvania. A cheery green sign by the highway greets them.

The sun crosses the sky above them and their growling stomachs force them to stop by a burger place by the highway.

When they get back to car, Hobbes has fallen asleep over the back row of seats.

“Sorry,” he says apologetically when they wake him up, “the last few days have taken a lot out of me.”

He groans and rubs his back. “I’m feeling my age lately. Funny idea.”

It’s about an hour after that, when everyone has finally fallen silent and settled into watching the landscape zip by past them, that the stadium starts to rise in the distance.

It starts as a speck in the horizon that leaves the residents of the car squinting and occasionally guessing out loud what it might be. Soon, it begins to take shape.

Tall, circular walls that curve around a single soundstage. When they pull into the parking lot, they can see the dilapidated state of the stadium. There are cracks in the pavement where weeds have begun to grow, spreading lines in the columns of the stadium where the concrete has broken under the wear of the years, and the opaque nature of the glass makes it painfully clear how long it has been since this place saw visitors.

They’re all standing outside, looking at the sight in front of them with a little disappointment (even Hobbes looks a little confused) when they hear the strains of “Life on Mars” drift through the air.

Hobbes gives a short, abrupt nod. “That’ll be her,” he says and starts marching into the stadium, past the empty ticket booths and closed recession stands.

Now completely confused, Calvin, Susie, Mr. Thompson, and El follow him.

Inside, the sight is much the same. Lots of empty seats stretching up to the skyline, cracked plastic handrails, and a layer of dust just about everywhere.

The exception lies on the stage, where someone in a blue suit, with a pale face and red hair, is belting out a rendition of “Life on Mars.”

_ “He’s in the best-selling show; _

_ Is there life on Mars?” _

The song ends, the figure gives a bow, and leaps off the stage. It steps towards them, and as he draws closer, Calvin can’t help blurting out, “David Bowie?”

Because it  _ is _ David Bowie, beyond a shadow of a doubt. He looks as if he could have stepped out of the music video for “Life on Mars” just a minute before. Everything about him, the way he walks, sings, the way he wears his suit, everything that determines the physical characteristics of a person fit into every image, video, and song that David Bowie has ever made.

Bowie tilts his head as he studies them, taking them all in one by one. “Not exactly,” he says, in reply to Calvin’s question. He walks around them to take a seat in one of the stadium chairs behind them.

“Hello, you old fraud,” he says shortly as he looks down at Hobbes. “Tell me, how is living these days going for you?”

Hobbes just glares at him, which makes Bowie laugh.

“I'm always amazed that people take what I say seriously. I don't even take what I am seriously.” He frowns as he looks around at them. “I prefer ‘she,’ by the way. I can see you thinking of me as a ‘he’ in your thoughts.”

Calvin blinks. “But . . . you’re a guy.”

Bowie snorts. “David Bowie is a guy. I’m not David Bowie. Call me Media.”

This time, Susie blinks. “You mean, as in for a company?”

“No, as in, the personification of the human obsession with mass media.”

Dead silence greets her pronouncement.

“Well, I can see why you brought them here,” Bowie – no, Media – says to Hobbes. “Let’s start from the beginning. Is it safe to assume that all of you can see the tiger as a tiger, rather than a lump of stuffing stitched into an orange-and-black-and-white patterned cloth?”

After a moment, they nod.

“I’m sure you are, by now, at least, aware that you are the only people who can see him like this. If not, then you’ve likely suspected.” He – she, Calvin reminds himself – pauses, and glances at them as if realizing something. “Do any of you believe in gods?”

Susie raises a hand.

“I mean proper  _ gods _ , mind you, not the metaphysical spiritual presence that you people pray to once a week in church.”

Susie frowns, then lowers her hand.

“But you are aware of the ancient pantheons of gods. Zeus and Jupiter, Odin, maybe Ra and Horus if you’re particularly well-educated. The girl with the shaved head gets a pass on this one. Tell me, have you ever considered those gods?”

Media turns to Mr. Thompson. “And now I’m hearing skeptical thoughts. Lots of very derogatory terms towards people who prayed to ‘invisible things in the air’. So, Jerry, what do you think makes a god?”

Mr. Thompson, rather than shrinking from this seeming challenge, seems to rise to meet it. “Young man, you can’t ‘make’ a god, any more than you can ‘make’ a vampire or a fairy tale come to life. You can’t ‘make’ something if it doesn’t exist.”

“Of course you can,” Media replies. “With belief. With faith. With sacrifice. If people believe in gods and pray to gods, then they make them real.”

Mr. Thompson snorts.

Media tilts her head curiously and –

Suddenly, the stadium comes alive. For an instant, Calvin’s ears are deafened by the staggering weight of thousands of people cheering and screaming and calling as a band plays onstage. His eyes are blinded by the flashing, burning lights and he can feel the pounding beat of the music in the vibrations in his chest. The sheer mass of all the people in the stadium is overwhelming, staggering . . .

The stadium snaps back in the moment between two instances and they’re back to the old, decaying ruin.

From her seat, Media watches the humans stumbling around as they try to reorientate themselves. “Remember that overwhelming feeling, that feeling of the weight of thousands of people letting their emotions loose, and tell me that there wasn’t power in that instant.”

No one responds.

“That was a glorious night. 6, 542 people, and all of them praying to me with their worship of the music.”

“Praying to you?” Calvin manages as the ringing finally begins to recede from his ears.

“I’m Media, remember? The sustaining power of music. And not just music, but television, film, radio, books, newspapers. The mass media of the modern age. A thousand different lines of communication into people’s thoughts that carefully influence how they think without making them aware of the fact.”

And suddenly, without any flash or signal to suggest anything has changed, everything changes. “Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

Calvin gapes. “Captain Napalm?”

“Comic books. Just another form of entertainment to feed to the masses.” The man (woman?) licks his lips. “Now, I remember you, Calvin. You put down a bowl of tapioca in front of the TV once, said that it represented your brain. Delicious. I loved that. Mostly because you didn’t realize how right you are. All around the world, right now, people are turning on their televisions, going to the movies, reading magazines and newspapers, and with every second they spend in front of some vapid story, with every speck of emotion they expend on vapid characters designed to tug at their heartstrings, they’re praying to me. Better than virgin’s blood. Better because praying is addictive. Every second they spend watching  _ The Cosby Show _ ? Just makes them want to watch more.”

And suddenly she’s back to Bowie, leaning back with a look of smug self-satisfaction on her face.

This time, it’s Calvin that speaks up. “So, what does this have to do with Hobbes?”

Media shrugs. “It’s a God-awful small affair, honestly. Like a reverse-me, in a lot of ways.”

“Without the riddles.”

“He’s a spirit of childhood, obviously. At some point, when you were young, you got lonely and imagined a friend for yourself. And you hoped and wanted and believed so hard that you made your friend real. One point of intense belief, rather than the more stable diversified pool I have.”

“More stable.”

“Well, everyone grows up eventually. They stop needing their imaginary friends. So those imaginary friends die.”

-X-

_ “You two going to tell what you’re whispering about?” _

_ Nancy ignores him, though Steve casts an uncertain look in his direction. _

_ “Harrington!” Hopper shouts, smelling a weak link. “You have no idea what she’s getting you into, alright? I can help, but you need to tell me what’s going on.” _

_ Steve turns back to Nancy. “Should we trust him?” _

_ “I’m not sure.” _

_ “Look,” the chief pushes his way between them. “Joyce Byers is locked up at the laboratory right now, all right? I need to talk to one of her kids if we’re going to get her out.” _

_ “And how would you know that?” _

_ “Because I was there with her about half an hour ago.” _

_ “And they just let you go?” Steve asks with a laugh. _

_ Hopper groans. “They think I’m going to get her kids for them.” _

_ “You’re going to what?” Nancy demands. _

_ “I had to get them to let me go somehow!” _

_ Nancy and Steve take a few steps further away from the chief. “Should we trust him?” Steve asks. _

_ Nancy sighs. “I don’t think we have a choice.” _

_ “Why not?” _

_ “This is Jonathan we’re talking about. If there was even a chance we could find his mom, he’d want us to take it.” _

_ They both know, upon hearing that statement, that it’s true. The Byers family is probably the closest thing to a broken home that Hawkins has, but the family hasn’t let that fact tear them apart. They survived Lonnie Byers, years on the edge of bankruptcy, and last fall because, no matter what, they stand together. _

_ And for some reason, Nancy and Steve seem to have decided to stand by Jonathan. _

_ “Well, then . . .” Steve looks back at Hopper and lets out an exhausted breath. “Uh, chief, you got a car?” _

-X-

Back at the car, they find a folded newspaper waiting for them on the dashboard. “Little gift from Media,” Hobbes proclaims shortly. Susie folds it open to see, in stark, bold, black letters, “MASSACRE AT MONTAUK POLICE STATION”.

“Well,” Susie mutters, “at least we don’t have to worry about bail.”

Calvin frowns when he peers over Susie’s shoulder to look at that. “Why would she want us to see this?”

“Because that was your cellmate.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Should we be worried?”

“How should I know?”

“I mean, if you’re a god . . .”

Hobbes groans loudly. “Didn’t you hear her? I’m not a god! I’m a story! A dream, a wish, a hope, I’m barely real! I’m something you made up a long time ago when you needed someone to pretend to be your friend!” He’s practically screaming by the end.

No one meets his eye when he finishes, except one.

El walks over to him and grabs his paw. “Friend,” she says shortly, before stepping into the car. Everyone else follows her.

No one speaks in the car for a while, until Hobbes finally speaks up. “Do you still have the fax I asked you to get?” This is directed Calvin.

Calvin digs around his jacket, pulls it out, and hands it over to Hobbes wordlessly.

“Susie, get your map out. We’re going to . . .” Hobbes squints. “Hawkins, Indiana.”

-X-

_ “Seriously, guys, this is some heavy shit,” Lucas is saying. “We don’t have to go to the facility, but shouldn’t we at least go to the hospital or something?” _

_ “Yeah, I’m actually with Lucas on this one,” Dustin says. “What if we went to a newspaper? I mean, that slug right there is pretty good proof that some real insanity is going on.” _

_ The slug in question is twitching in a Tupperware container that used to hold brownies. They had held a vote on which of the snacks was most expendable, and had decided on the box of brownies that Jonathan had made for Nancy a few months ago. It had been a cute gesture but Jonathan’s brownies were . . . _

_ “OK, so where do you guys think we should go first?” Mike asks. _

_ “Mad Magazine? Marvel Comics? Ooh, the Rolling Stones!” Dustin exclaims. _

_ Lucas rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t we go somewhere with, I don’t know, respectability? Like the New York Times?” _

_ “Please,” Dustin says dismissively. “Those places will totally be infested with government spies.” _

_ “Yeah! Because they’re trusted! People believe what they say! We just need to find someone there who we know won’t rat us out.” _

_ “How will we know, though? I mean, what if we just go up to someone and ask, ‘Excuse me, are you secretly helping the government keep shady secrets on the down-low?’ and they say ‘Sure,’ so we tell them about Will and he calls in the National Guard or something?” _

_ “Guys?” a weak voice croaks from behind the three of them. “Don’t I get a say in this? Cause I really think I’m OK right now.” _

_ “OK?” Lucas says incredulously. “Will, there are alien slugs coming out of your mouth!” _

_ “Actually, we don’t know for sure that they’re alien in origin,” Dustin interjects. _

_ “No, seriously,” Will says, a little desperately as he pushes himself to his feet. “I mean, this has been going on for a while, and I’m still alive, right?” _

_ A sudden racking cough takes over his body, sending him down to his hands and knees. He makes a sound like vomiting and another black slug flops jerking onto the ground. _

_ “OK, we’re getting you to a hospital, Will,” Lucas declares. _

_ “If we have to drag you,” Dustin adds. _

_ “That’s weird,” Will says, his voice thick with confusion. “This usually only happens every few weeks, it’s never happened on the same day before –” _

_ His head suddenly snaps to look at the others. “I mean, I’m totally fine, guys, seriously! Don’t worry about it!” _

_ Mike glanced down at the ground, to see the slug determinedly pushing its way forward. “Guys?” he called out. “Does it look like the slug is trying to get somewhere?” _

_ The others look down. “What does it matter?” Lucas complains. “Right now, we need to get Will to a hospital.” _

_ “Uh, guys?” This time it’s Dustin. “Look at the first slug.” _

_ Mike runs over, followed by Lucas. Will still looks lying he’s trying to gather enough strength to stand up. _

_ The first slug is very deliberately poking at the plastic walls confining it, looking like it’s trying to push its way through. Mike tilts his head directly over it, confirming his suspicions. It’s pointed right at the other slug. _

_ “Guys,” he exclaims, “stay here for a second.” _

_ Will, at this point, has pushed himself to his feet. “What are you doing?” he asks, concern in his voice. _

_ Wordlessly, Mike grabs a branch off the ground. He heads back to the second slug that Will vomited up and pushes his stick underneath it. He then raises the stick, the slug perched on the tip of the wood. _

_ “Could you guys move out of the way?” he calls. _

_ He carries the slug over to the Tupperware container, where the first slug is wriggling with one tip pointed at the sky. Will tilts the stick and lets the slug he’s carrying drop into the container. _

_ It splats next to first. The two slugs immediately begin squirming against each other, their ends coiling around each other. The slugs push against each other flattening out and stretching out, becoming longer and thinner as they squeeze closer together. _

_ The single mass – it seems almost wrong to call it two different things anymore – begins to convulse, its ends flopping around the container. _

_ A smell that distinctly reminds Mike of a gasoline spill from the family car that his dad once made him help clean up fills the air. _

_ Now, it’s jerking harder, the body thumping against the plastic. The bodies push harder against each other, the tips touching and the lengths going around each other in circles. _

_ Then, Mike realizes that the two slugs are beginning to merge. _

_ A slight, filmy secretion emerges at the points where the bodies meet. At those edges, the hard divisions between the two bodies between come more indistinct, slowly fading and smoothing into a single wall of black, glistening flesh. _

_ Mike realizes that he can no longer tell where one begins and the other ends. _

_ The convulsions have become even stronger, the thing flopping almost like a fish, even bouncing a centimeter or two into the air, leaving Mike incredibly thankful that Jonathan had made a  _ lot _ of shitty brownies, so that the walls were tall enough to hold the jumping, leaping nightmare sitting in the Tupperware. _

_ The body gives one final twitch, before stilling. _

_ The boys look down to see a single slug, larger than either of the first two. _

_ It stretches out, seeming almost smug in the leisurely way it moves. Then it begins to poke and prod at the walls of its prison once more. _

_ “Uh, Will,” Dustin asks. He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but they can all practically taste the undercurrent of terror trembling in his voice. “How many of these did you throw up?” _

-X-

They’ve managed to leave Pennsylvania behind and are taking another stop at a gas station. Mr. Thompson decided to get the gas this time, while Susie has taken El out for a walk to a restaurant to teach her how to order food.

Which leaves Calvin and Hobbes.

“You know,” Calvin says, finally looking up from his guidebook, “I just realized something.”

“What?” Hobbes growls.

“The trip that we’ve made so far, crossing three state boundaries, it should have taken us about eight hours.” Calvin looks up. “We’ve made it in about six.”

“Excellent traffic does amazing things.”

“Did you do that?”

Hobbes doesn’t reply.

“Hobbes.”

“Yes, I did,” Hobbes exclaims, exasperated. “I’ve been moving this road trip along as quickly as I could arrange. Why do you ask?”

“Well, why did you? I mean, why did you just show yourself now, instead of, I don’t know, years ago?”

“Because I couldn’t.”

Calvin stops. “Why not?”

Hobbes sighs and rubs his face with his paws. “You know, most of us, imaginary friends, spirits of childhood, persistent daydreams, whatever, we never get very strong. One child believing in us isn’t much, no matter how much they believe. That’s why most of us fade so easily. All of this stuff I’ve done, forcing people to see me, quietly moving traffic along, figuring out where guards and faxes are going, gods like Media could do it easily. I probably never would have been able to.”

“So why were you?”

Hobbes gives a quiet, dry chuckle at that. “Because you believed. For so many years, after everyone else had grown up, you believed. You believed that I was your friend at that belief kept me alive for so long after all the imaginary friends that I got to know disappeared. And I horded that belief and saved as much of it as I could, starting from when you were seven, because I knew I was going to need as much of it as I could get.”

“For what?”

“To thank you,” Hobbes whispers.

Calvin frowns. “This is thanking me?”

Hobbes sighs. “In Hawkins, assuming things go according to plan, there is a group of kids. And those kids are going to need an imaginary friend to help them through some tough times. Especially El.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Calvin almost shouts.

Hobbes pauses to stare at his claws. “Yeah.”

“WHY?”

“Because you kept me alive for so long!” Hobbes roars. “Because you gave me life, and hope, and a family, and adventures, so many incredible and thrilling and insane adventures to the moon and Mars and forward and back in time, and this is the only way I can thank you!”

“By leaving me?”

“No, Calvin,” Hobbes says, and suddenly the fight all drains out of him, from the whiskers on his face to the tip of his striped tail. “I’m letting you grow up.”

“You don’t need to leave, though,” Calvin says, but his voice is cracked, because even he knows it isn’t true.

Because adulthood is about jobs and papers and forms and a family and being there for other people, and childhood is about dreams and adventures and reading and television and believing that anything is possible.

Because adulthood is about learning to deal with other people and because childhood is learning to deal with yourself.

And because, at the end of the day, when all is said and done, Hobbes is just a part of himself, and he can’t focus on himself if he’s going to grow up.

“I don’t have to become an adult,” Calvin whispers.

Hobbes gazes pointedly out the window, where Susie is walking back and leading El, who seems to have grabbed a dozen boxes of frozen Eggos.

“Calvin,” Hobbes says, “I want you to grow up. I want you to have a chance to try new adventures and see what a family feels like. I want you to find out about a different kind of world. Your parents’ world, if only to see what it’s like.”

“My parents are boring,” Calvin laughingly protests, but the words choke in his mouth.

“Your parents raised  _ you _ ,” Hobbes says mildly. “I think they did a pretty good job of it.”

Calvin just laughs at that, because the only other alternative is too painful to contemplate.

He jumps across the car seat, suddenly, and wraps Hobbes in a bone-crushing hug.

“Aww, I love you, too, you softy,” Hobbes says chidingly.

He hears a sob in return.

“Would you look at that,” Hobbes murmurs in surprise. “I made Spaceman Spiff cry.”

-X-

_ “Won’t your parents be curious?” Hopper asks as they pull up outside of Steve’s house. _

_ “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he replies. “They’ve been off on a business trip for two weeks now. They’ll be back next week.” _

_ Hopper grunts in reply and they start walking up the steps to the front door. Steve unlocks it and steps into the foyer. “Jonathan!” he shouts. “We got someone who might be able to help!” _

_ Jonathan pokes his head out of Steve’s room and does a double-take when he sees Hopper. “Chief?” _

_ “Hey, kid.” _

_ “Where’s my mom?” _

_ “Back at the laboratory.” _

_ “You  _ left _ her there?” _

_ “It wasn’t by choice. That was the only way they were going to let me leave,” Hopper says in frustration. “I need to talk to your brother.” _

_ “Why should we trust you?” _

_ “Because if the lab people were right, your brother might be in a hell of a lot of trouble right now and not even know about it.” _

_ “Like what?” Jonathan has started walking down the stairs. _

_ “Remember how your brother was the only person caught by the monster that we found? They think the monster might have left him with a present.” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ Hopper groans. “They said that there’s something from the Upside-Down living in the sewers.” _

_ “WHAT?” This time, everyone shouts, then immediately starts asking questions. _

_ “Look!” Hopper yells over the rest of them, “they think Will might be the cause of the . . . the sewer monster, alright? So how about we find our kid and get him to a hospital?” _

_ This time Nancy speaks up. “Something tells me that isn’t the deal you made with the lab people.” _

_ “No, it isn’t. They want me to bring Will back to them.” _

_ “Are you going to?” _

_ Hopper snorts. “Back to those blood-suckers? Joyce would rip my guts out and use them to strangle me. _

_ Jonathan just shrugs at that as if saying,  _ true enough _. _

_ Steve of all people is the one who asks the next question. “Wait, how do we know they’re not following you?” _

_ Hopper finally cracks a smile at that. “Took care of that. The only things they took off me when they took me in were my badge and my gun. I searched both of them and found transponders. Left them at my house. They don’t have a clue where I am.” _

_ Steve and Nancy both look at Jonathan, who slowly nods. “I believe you.” _

_ “Just like that?” _

_ “No, but it explains a lot about Will lately . . .” Jonathan’s voice trails off. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it, and if we can get in the car, I think I might know where they are.” _

-X-

El has gone through a box of Eggos and has started on the second when Hawkins comes into view.

It’s a small town, clusters of buildings around a few streets that branch out from a town square and nothings over three stories.

“Small,” El says, but she sounds confused, as if comparing the town to her memory and finding it lacking. Of course, compared to New York, it’s downright puny.

“Right,” Susie proclaims. “Hawkins, Indiana. What now?”

“Now,” Hobbes replies, “we let El take over.” He pauses to sniff the air. “Well, something’s certainly gone wrong around here lately. Looks like we’ll have to help out with that.”

“Great,” Susie mutters. “More problems.”

Mr. Thompson suddenly leans forwards. “Is there, by any chance, a government laboratory around here?”

“Yes,” Hobbes says, “It’s down that road for about a mile.”

“I propose we go there first!”

“No,” El says suddenly. Everyone turns to her as she leans forward to Susie and points down the road. “Go. Bad things.” She frowns, then says, slowly and carefully, “In-fec-tion.”

Calvin looks curiously at Susie. “Where did she learn that word?”

“I was telling her why we refrigerate things.”

“Go!” El shouts, still pointing.

“All right,” Susie mutters, “listen to the super-powered ten year-old. Got it.”

-X-

_ “So if he let one out every few weeks, and it’s been almost a year, then that’s . . .” Dustin is thinking aloud. _

_ “It’s an ass-load of slugs, we know!” Lucas interrupts. _

_ “Hey, Will, do you think . . . huh?” _

_ Both Mike and Lucas turn at the sound of Dustin’s confusion. Will seems to have collapsed at the forest floor. _

_ “Oh, crap,” Mike says, his heart suddenly feeling like someone grabbed and squeezed it. “Is he alive?” _

_ “I don’t know how to check someone’s pulse,” Dustin replies. _

_ “Move,” Lucas orders and holds his finger under Will’s nose. A tense second follows as Mike and Dustin both try to read the expression on Lucas’s face. _

_ “Well, he’s breathing,” Lucas finally pronounces. _

_ “Uh, guys, does he look a lot whiter to you?” _

_ Will’s body suddenly twitches, which causes Lucas to jump back in surprise. _

_ “Should we put something in his mouth?” Mike asks, trying to think of something he can do that might make this just a little sane. _

_ “What the hell are you talking about?” Lucas demands, as Will’s body gives another twitch. _

_ “I saw them do it in  _ Alien _!” Mike shouts, now completely and utterly terrified. _

_ “Would that help?” _

_ “I don’t know!” _

_ “Guys!” Dustin yells over them. “I think there’s a car coming.” _

_ “Mike!” he hears someone shout. _

_ “Isn’t that Nancy?” Dustin asks curiously. _

_ “Wait,” Mike orders and runs out to the road. _

_ He sees a car that he recognizes belongs to Steve Harrington. He waves a hand and the car comes to a halt. Steve and Nancy both jump out, followed by Chief Hopper and Jonathan Byers. _

_ “What are you guys doing here?” he asks. _

_ Jonathan ignores him completely, instead taking off into the forest. “Will!” he shouts. “Will!” _

_ Confused, Mike runs after him. He can hear the other three following as well. _

_ He bursts back into the clearing, where he sees Jonathan bending over his brother’s body. “What the hell happened?” Jonathan demands. _

_ “Well,” Mike stammers, “I mean, he threw up some slugs –” _

_ “What?” _

_ “Yeah,” Dustin pipes up. “This one,” and he points to the Tupperware. _

_ Nancy frowns as she walks over. “Isn’t this mine –Holy shit!” she shouts as she jumps back. “What is that?” _

_ Hopper strides over and looks down into it. “Yep,” he mutters, “that’s definitely from the Upside-Down.” _

_ “What is?” Jonathan asks as he stands up to look at the box. “Will threw that up?” he asks, his voice about a pitch higher than normal. _

_ Mike turns as he hears something coming from the road. “Is that another car?” _

-X-

“Wait, stop,” Calvin suddenly says as they pass a building that says POST OFFICE. “Mr. Thompson, could you follow me for a second?”

Susie drums her fingers on the windowsill as she waits for them to return.

It’s a strange feeling, being impatient for something she can’t identify. All she knows is that there’s something appealing about his plunge into the unknown, something addicting about this sense of not knowing what’s coming next.

“You feel it, huh?” Hobbes remarks. He grins. “Little bit of childhood left over in you yet.”

While Susie’s puzzling over that, Calvin and Mr. Thompson get back to the car. “Just sending a package with my fax and a letter explaining what’s going on to New York. You know, in case we don’t come back.” They take their seats and they’re off again.

“Left,” El says.

-X-

_ Hopper groans and rubs his head. This is getting to be too much for him. “Right,” he announces, “I’ll take care of this –” _

_ “STATE POLICE!” A voice roars from the woods. _

Wait, shit, no no no no _ , Hopper curses in his head. “OK,” he shouts as everyone starts babbling, “quiet! Or they’ll find us!” _

_ Everyone falls silent at that. _

_ “I’m going to stall them. You, head out into the forest, you probably know it better than them . . .” His voice trails off as Dr. Owens steps into the clearing, flanked by two state MPs cradling dangerous-looking weapons in their arms. _

_ His jaw works for a second as he looks for the right words to get them out of this mess. _

_ He doesn’t find any. _

_ “How?” he finally manages.  _ Keep them talking _ , he think desperately, _ wait for an opening.

_ Dr. Owens sighs. “If you must know, Hopper, I don’t normally smoke.” _

_ Hopper desperately fumbles in his jacket and pulls out his lighter. Flips it open. _

_ A small green light winks at him, as if it’s just shared the funniest, most important secret in the world. _

-X-

Susie is heading down the road through the forest when she catches sight of three cars parked by the side of the road. There’s what appears to be a sports car, a police vehicle, and van that bears the name “Hawkins Electricity.”

“Here,” El announces.

Susie pulls the car over and she, Calvin, El, and Hobbes all clamber out. They all pause when Mr. Thompson doesn’t move.

“Oh, for goodness sake, get moving! I’ll watch the car. All this running around is for young people who aren’t yet considered at risk of heart attack. Go!”

Calvin and Susie shrug at each other and start running, Hobbes and Susie following shortly.

“Do we know where we’re going?” Calvin asks.

Suddenly, shouts ring out from deep in the forest.

“Never mind,” he mutters.

The voices get more distinct as they get. They can hear kids’ voices, some teenagers their age, from the pitches, and an older man who seems to be trying to keep everything under control.

“STATE POLICE!” someone roars, and Calvin sighs. “That’s our cue,” and they pick up the pace.

They can hear two adults talking to each other, one authoritative and cold, the other plaintive and seemingly confused.

“I don’t normally smoke,” someone says.

A minute later, the four of them – though the other will only see three – burst into the clearing. Immediately, two men, who look an awful lot like soldiers, swing automatic weapons at them.

“Woah!” Susie shouts. “Don’t shoot!”

“Mike!” El shouts.

“El?” one of the boys shouts back.

The man standing between the two soldiers, an aged man with grey buzz-cut hair, a neatly pressed grey suit, and a pair of spectacles, sighs and places a hand over his face. Susie gets the distinct sensation that he’s counting to ten.

“Mike!” El shouts again as she runs to the boy.

“El!” he shouts back, and Susie catches a hint of desperation and longing in his tone. He’s running to meet her.

They crash into each other right in the middle and stand hugging each other. Susie can see the boy – Mike, she supposes – whispering something into El’s ear and his eyes are wide open in disbelief and joy. Then he shuts his eyes and squeezes El tighter.

“All right, if everyone could just  _ cease _ with the histrionics, please!” the man shouts. “Who the hell are you people?”

The clearing is silent, except for Mike, who’s still quietly whispering into El’s ear.

“Well? Chief, do you know any of these people?”

The other man, the one in the police uniform studies the two of them, Susie and Calvin. “No, Dr. Owens, not those two.”

One of the soldiers speaks up. “Actually, sir, I recognize one of them. The girl.”

“Eh?” The man – Dr. Owens – glances at El as if noticing her for the first time. He freezes, stops, and blinks. Does a double-take. “Subject Eleven?”

“Her name is El,” Calvin speaks up from Susie’s side a little testily.

“Oh, whatever,” the doctor says dismissively and turns to one of his soldiers to whisper something into his ear. The man nods and heads off into the woods.

Dr. Owens turns back to them. “So, are you going to tell me who you people are?”

Calvin speaks up before Susie can. “Well, the thing is, we’re government overseers, so we’re actually your bosses, so if you could, like, tell the goon next to you to put down his gun, we won’t fire you –”

Susie slaps a hand over his mouth before he can say anything else stupid. “Sorry, this is my boyfriend. I’m still house-training him,” she says sweetly as she tries to think of a workable lie. “Actually, we’re interns at the Rolling Stones.”

The man snorts. “Out here?”

“Yes, they wanted us to investigate some rumors they heard. The thing is, we’re supposed to call back soon to explain what’s going and how we’re spending the money they lent us, so . . .”

Her voice trails off as she sees the other soldier march back into view leading a woman by a pair of handcuffs.

“Oh, there you are,” Dr. Owens says irritably. “I thought I was going to have to spend more time listening to their inane chatter. Right, start digging some graves.”

“WHAT?”

The soldier next to Owens frowns. “Sir, if they’re really here for the Rolling Stones, shouldn’t we be worried.”

Owens rolls his eyes. “Teenagers run off with each other all the time. This far from a major city? No one will notice.”

“Hey, Dr. Evil?” Calvin calls.

“No more talking. I’m sick of it,” Owens snaps. “Shoot them.”

The two soldiers immediately heft their guns. Susie feels Calvin grab her and pull her into an embrace, throwing himself between her and the bullets as they both shut their eyes.

For some reason, she isn’t scared. Not yet. The idea probably hasn’t reached her head yet, that she’s going to die  _ oh wait, she’s going to die oh my God . . . _

Someone screams, “No!” It occurs to the Susie that the voice sounds like El.

There’s a sickening crunch, and two bodies fall to the ground.

Susie stand still for a second, waiting for some kind of pain.

None comes.

Finally, she decides that it might be safe to open her eyes, and she does so. The two soldiers are lying on the ground, their heads at funny angles. At the edge of her vision, she sees El kneeling on the ground as one of the boys dabs at her nose with the edge of sleeve.

“Huh,” Calvin says, and he sounds  _ exactly _ like how Susie feels, confused and surprised, but mostly so damn relieved that she can’t even begin to process how relieved.

As one, the two of them turn and kiss each other. They stay like that for a few seconds before they hear one of the boys shout, “Ew, they’re sucking face!”

They break apart at that and start giggling like lunatics at each other. Giggling, then chuckling, and then outright laughing, because they’d forgotten how disgusting kissing used to look to them, and now they’re doing it, and it’s OK because they’re  _ alive _ , which shouldn’t be such a big shock, given Calvin’s ability to survive basically anything, including wagon crashes and flaming snowsleds, but seriously, they’re  _ alive _ –

Susie cuts off her train of that before she descends into hysteria. Looking at Calvin, it seems as though he’s doing the same.

They hear a distinct  _ thud _ and look to see the police officer – Chief Hopper? – wresting the doctor to the ground.

From beside them, they can hear Hobbes cough awkwardly. “As cute as this is,” he says pointedly, “you guys need to check out the Tupperware container over there. Then, make sure you get the full story from the kids.”

-X-

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Joyce Byers is demanding, as Will tries to stammer out an explanation.

Mike shifts in his seat awkwardly in his seat, listening to the interrogation. At least, it feels like an interrogation. Joyce had dragged herself, Will, and Jonathan behind a door in their house and left everyone else in the living room for a “family discussion,” but the walls are thin enough that everyone can hear what’s being spoken pretty clearly.

Joyce had stopped to put a few Eggos in the toaster, though, which Eleven is now eating with gusto.

Outside, it feels as if even the normal ambient noises of the night that come alive when the suns sets are quieting down to listen.

“We are your family, Will! You can’t just lock us out whenever it gets ‘awkward’!”

“So,” Chief Hopper finally says, trying to break up some of the tension clogging the air, “who are you people?” He gestures to the three people – four, if you count the stuffed tiger in Eleven’s arms – sitting around the living room.

“Ah,” the older, sort of distinguished-looking old guy says with a beaming smile, “my name is Jerry Thompson.” He sticks out a hand towards Hopper, who takes it with a little uncertainty. Mike can relate. The dude looks way to calm given . . . everything.

“I’m a journalist,” Mr. Thompson continues.

“Really?” Hopper mutters. “That’s worrisome.”

“Why do you say that?” Mr. Thompson asks. “It seems to me that a member of the Fourth Estate would be a good ally to have in the present circumstances.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Thompson, I think we’re all looking for things to get back to normal right about now, not get in the middle of some national news story.”

Mr. Thompson shrugs. “I will be more than happy to oblige you, if that’s what you really want, but other journalists might not be so scrupulous. At the moment, I’m just hoping to let you tell your side of this story.”

“Whoa,” Hopper growls, “there’s no story here, OK? Especially if you’re threatening us.”

“I’m not threatening anyone,” Mr. Thompson replies, looking a lot like Mr. Clarke when he tries to explain a particularly challenging concept to a particularly slow student. “But you might need to consider the possibility of Hawkins attracting media attention soon enough.”

Hopper groans. “Look, we’re just trying to get our lives back to normal.”

“I’d say normalcy for you vanished a long time ago.”

“Well, maybe I’d like to give it another shot,” Hopper growls.

Mr. Thompson raises a pretty severe-looking eyebrow at him. “And what about the bigger picture, then?”

“What?”

“Hawkins Lab isn’t an isolated incident, Chief Hopper. It was funded and run by our government, which even now is trying to clamp down on its mistakes. Doesn’t it bother you that, if you don’t speak up, these people will escape without consequences?”

“You think anyone is going to care what happens in a Podunk little town like Hawkins?” Hopper asks with a snort.

“I think that when they find out about Eleven,” Mr.  Thompson shoots back while inclining his head in Eleven’s direction, “a great many people are going to care.”

At the sound of her name being spoken, Eleven’s head shoots up.

“Wait,” Mike suddenly speaks up. “What are you talking about?”

Mr. Thompson sighs and turns to him. “In the event that the information about Hawkins Lab is released, Eleven will be an important witness in the ensuing investigation. She’s going to be quite the celebrity.”

“Cool!” Dustin pipes up from behind Mike. “Do we get to be famous, too?”

“No!” Mike shouts. “Not cool! This is bullshit! We were supposed to get Eleven into a normal home after this was all over.”

“He’s right, Mr. Thompson,” the brunette teenager says.

“Who are you?” Hopper demands, sounding exasperated.

“Oh, I’m Susie Derkins. This is Calvin,” she says gesturing to the boy sitting next to her. “We’re the ones who found El.”

“You mean Eleven?” Hopper asks.

“No, we mean El,” the guy – Calvin – shoots back. “And the kid’s right.”

“My name’s Mike,” Mike snaps.

“Right. Sorry. Look, the point is,” Calvin says, turning back to Mr. Thompson, “I thought we were doing all of this to get El home. Now you’re talking about getting the news involved?”

“Well, what do you suggest, then?” Mr. Thompson snaps, his temper finally pushed passed the breaking point. “Just let all the criminals involved with this whole program go crawling back to their labs? So they can keep doing this? Is that your idea of what we should do next?”

In the ensuing silence, Mike realizes that he’s halfway pulled himself to his feet and, looking back, realizes that Dustin and Lucas have done the same.

“Shouldn’t this be El’s choice?” Susie finally asks, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife, and Mike shifts a little uncomfortably as he turns to El who hasn’t raised her voice once in this clash.

El starts as she sees everyone turning to her, seemingly shrinking into her jacket. She glances around a little desperately, seemingly searching for someone to help her out of her unwanted spot at the center of everyone’s attention.

“Eleven,” Mr. Thompson says, “have you been listening to us so far?”

El nods slowly, her eyes uncertain.

“What do you want us to do?”

She stares at him with an inscrutable expression. Finally, she opens her mouth.

“Be quiet.”

-X-

Jonathan wants to go hug his brother right about now, but he’s afraid that if moves at all, his mom will start yelling at him. Right now, she’s pacing the floor, alternately clutching her head in her hands and muttering to herself.

Will looks absolutely terrible right now. His pallor and the sheen of sweat on his forehead lend an odd emphasis to the terrified look on his face. Jonathan doesn’t blame him. The mom they’re listening to right now is angrier than they’ve ever heard her before, angrier than when she found out that Lonnie had been hitting Jonathan, angrier than when Hopper had called her to tell her that Lonnie had ended up in the town jail, angrier than when she had kicked Lonnie out of their house and their lives.

Then again, Jonathan can understand where she’s coming from.

Right now, the slug sitting in the bottom of the Tupperware box is just about burned into his brain.

And Will just “didn’t feel like” telling them.

That had been his excuse, in the end. Couched in a thousand different phrases – “I didn’t want to worry you guys,” “I thought it would go away quickly,” etc. – but in the end, Will had decided to keep this from them.

That was not Will Byers.

Jonathan groans and puts his face in his hands. He can’t handle this right now.

His mom suddenly turns around and looks him in the eye. A flash of understanding passes between them.

“Will,” Jonathan says carefully, “just wait here for a second, all right?”

Will nods almost imperceptibly, his eyes focused on a point in the wall opposite from him. Jonathan and Joyce get up and step out of the room, making sure to close the door behind them. For the first time in his life, Jonathan wishes that they could lock from the outside.

Out in the hallway, Nancy and Steve – his heart leaps irritatingly at the sight of them – are having a hushed conversation with each other, which they break up the moment they see Jonathan.

“Hey,” he greets them without cheer. The two nod in response.

In the living room, everyone looks away awkwardly as soon as they see the Byers, which leads Jonathan to wonder how much they heard.

“You all locked Owens in the van, right?” Joyce asks.

Hopper nods in confirmation.

“Good, because we might need his help.”

Will’s friends’ heads snap up as one. “What?”

“We’re going to need help to figure out what’s going on with Will,” Jonathan says tiredly, “and these guys are the closest thing we’ve got to experts right now.”

“What about just a regular hospital?” Dustin pipes up. “One that we know doesn’t do crazy experiments on people.”

“Wait,” Mike says as he spins around to glare at Dustin, “I thought we agreed to keep anyone from finding out about this. I thought that was what El asked for.”

“Oh, come on, Mike, this could be life or death for Will.”

“Uh, question.” It’s the blond guy. “I’m Calvin, by the way, not sure if we were ever properly introduced, that’s Susie and Mr. Thompson, but your son, Will, he’s vomiting those slugs we saw?”

“Yes,” Joyce responds, her voice almost unbearably fragile.

“And you guys think he got them from being in the . . .”

“The Upside-Down,” Dustin interjects. “It’s this crazy whole other dimension, like the Vale of Shadows!”

“Vale of Shadows?” That’s the girl, Susie.

“It’s a Dungeons and Dragons thing,” Calvin explains to her quickly before turning back to the group as a whole. “And your son, Will, he never mentioned this at all. Not once? Like, not even by accident?”

“Wait,” Lucas says with a frown, “that’s actually really weird, not that you mention it.”

Dustin snorts. “No duh, of course it’s weird he wouldn’t mention that.”

“No, idiot,” Lucas snaps. “Remember last year, when we were attacked by the Demogorgon?”

“At the school?” Mike asks with a frown.

“No, in the campaign!”

“You know, I can’t even tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” Dustin mutters.

“Wait, I think I know what he’s talking about,” Mike says slowly. “Remember the morning after, when Lucas asked me about when we were going to finish the campaign and I told you guys that Will had told me that he rolled too low . . .”

“And then Lucas got super mad, yeah, I remember that,” Dustin says, a smile starting to spread on his face.

“No, but here’s the thing,” Mike says impatiently. “Will didn’t have to tell me what he rolled. I didn’t ask him. He made sure to tell me.”

“He’s right,” Jonathan says slowly. “Will was always honest. Always. No matter what.”

He can hear the crickets chirping out in the dark as everyone chews over his words. An owl hoots, somewhere off in the dark.

“This is going to sound dumb,” Calvin starts.

“Seems pretty normal for you then,” Susie interjects. Calvin glares at her and Susie smiles sweetly back at him.

“As I was saying,” Calvin growls, “the hospital didn’t find the . . . the parasite? Let’s call it the parasite for now. The hospital didn’t find the parasite, otherwise they would have told you guys, right?”

Next to Jonathan, Joyce nods slowly.

“So, we know the parasite has ways to protect itself,” Calvin continues. “What if it had some other tools to protect itself?”

“Ooh, like mind control!” Dustin shouts.

“I was building up to that,” Calvin mutters with a sigh.

Lucas is already nodding. “That would explain why he kept it a secret for so long.”

Joyce is just staring at them, aghast. “You’re telling me my boy was mind-controlled for almost a year? A year?”

“Well,” Nancy says diplomatically, “it wouldn’t have to be complete control. Maybe it just kept him from doing that one thing.”

“Wait,” Lucas cuts in. “Will told us that normally, he threw up a slug every few weeks. But he threw up two today.”

“Which could mean it’s getting stronger,” Dustin concludes.

Mike suddenly speaks up. “Did you guys lock Will’s door?”

“We can’t,” Joyce sighs, “but I think we would hear him getting out.”

Jonathan takes a short, sharp breath as terror suddenly floods his system. His eyesight suddenly snaps into focus as an idea shoots to the forefront of his mind. “We didn’t do anything about his window.”

And then he’s running, his feet pounding on the floor and his mom right behind him as they sprint to Will’s room. It’s only a few feet, but the very air seems to be clinging to Jonathan and dragging him away from his brother.

He throws open the door and sees the window to Will’s room hanging open.

-X-

_ Will’s left foot drags itself in front of him, pushing itself forwards against his will. _

I should really go back to Mom now _ , he thinks. He keeps waiting for himself to laugh, as if thinking, how dumb is this, OK, let’s get back, Mom and Jonathan are going to be worried. _

_ His right foot jerks forward. _

_ It’s easier this way. Easier to just let the virus, the infection, the . . . whatever . . . to take him. To take control. Just one foot ahead of the other. No tough choices or hard decisions. Just one foot ahead of the other. _

_ Just for a second, his mind snaps at the thought, rebels at the slow, molasses crawl of his mind.  _ This isn’t me _ , he thinks desperately and focuses on his feet. Stares at them and wills them to stop. It’s like trying to slow down a bull by pulling on its horns, but Will sinks his heals into the dirt of the prairie and wrenches with all his might. _

_ His whole body freezes, standing at the edge of the forest. Ahead, it looms, the branches and roots like the dozens of ropes that entangle to form a net that captures unwary prey. _

_ “MOM!” he screams and it hurts to hear how scared his voice sounds. “JONATHAN? ANYONE? PLEASE –” _

_ His vocal cords clench without direction from his brain and his shout dies in his throat, barely a croak emerging from between his lips. _

_ A bead of sweat trails down the side of his face, in defiance of the bitter chill of the night. _

_ He thinks about everyone he loves. He thinks about his mom and his brother, sitting around the table on Christmas night. He thinks about the Thessalhydra and his friends whooping around the table in Mike’s basement. Somewhere inside of him, he finds the strength to drag his head around and look back at his house. _

_ The open window of his room beckons invitingly. _

I can’t do this _ , he thinks, and it is a terrifying thought, as the weight of months of agony and hiding and secrets – so damn many secrets – falls on his shoulders. And the weight breaks him. _

_ He turns away. His left foot jerks forward and carries him into the woods. _

-X-

“How many cars do we have?” Mrs. Byers is asking.

“Three,” Hopper replies. “The car the kids came in, the car Nancy and Steve came in, and my police cruiser. If we count the Hawkins van, that’s four.”

“We’re in trouble,” Hobbes snarls to Calvin.

“You think?”

“Well, we can’t just drive out into town and hope that we run across him,” Susie points out, trying to play at rationality.

“So we just sit here?” Joyce demands.

“Wait, Joyce, remember what we were talking about with the sewers?” Hoppers asks.

“Can we get into the sewers?” Joyce responds.

“It’s the most we have to go one right now.”

“Actually,” everyone turns to Mr. Thompson, “if there is a county courthouse nearby, we should be able to find the schematics for the town sewer system.”

“It’s about ten minutes drive away,” Hopper says.

“Well, let’s get moving,” Joyce announces.

-X-

Mike finds El sitting on the porch. “Hey,” he calls out.

She scoots over and he takes a seat next to her.

“Me and the guys – you know, Lucas and Dustin – we were thinking about the time you found Will when he was in the Upside-Down.”

El nods at that and takes another bite out of her Eggo.

Mike pauses, then lets curiosity get the better of him. “Look, where did you go that night? I mean, did you die or just go to the Upside-Down or . . .”

El shakes her head. “Not dead. Not here.” She frowns, then points a finger at herself. “This died. Not this.” She points at her head, between her eyes.

Mike frowns. “You mean your body died . . . but not your mind?”

El nods her head.

“But where did you go? The Upside-Down.”

El frowns, trying to find the right vocabulary. “Not the Upside-Down. Not here. Somewhere . . . middle.”

“In between?”

Mike and El turn to see Lucas and Dustin looking out the doorway onto the backyard porch. “Guys!” Mike hisses. “I asked you guys to let me do this alone.”

Dustin shrugs. “We figured if we left you two alone for too long, you’d start sucking face.”

El frowns. “Sucking face?”

“It’s nothing!” Mike says hurriedly, before turning back to his friends. “I’m just trying to handle this delicately.”

“No!” Dustin laughs. “You’re trying to get some privacy so you make your undying declaration of love!”

“What? No!”

Lucas starts snickering, too. “Let’s be real, Mike, you haven’t left her side since you found her again.”

“That’s not true!”

“Uh, it totally is,” Dustin shoots back.

Mike coughs, trying to hide the heat he feels rising to his face. “Back to the original point,” he says loudly, turning back to El, “could you try to find Will again?”

El frowns. “Not sure.”

“What if we got you the radio again?” Lucas suddenly recalls. “We fixed it last winter – well, me and Dustin fixed it, Mike was too busy moping – and we even upgraded it in spring. We could use that again!”

All three boys turn back to El with bated breath. Slowly but with certainty, she nods.

-X-

“There’s a storm coming,” Hobbes mutters, which makes Calvin and Susie turn to look at him as they wait outside on the porch.

Chief Hopper and Mrs. Byers drove off with Mr. Thompson in tow about half an hour ago, the kids are in the backyard (leaving El alone had left Calvin feeling oddly bereft, but she’d looked pretty comfortable on her own), and the three other teenagers seem to be having a fairly heated conversation inside the house.

Which leaves the two – three, actually – of them to wait.

“I think the storm has already arrived,” Susie replies drily.

Hobbes shakes his head resolutely. “These are just the opening shots. The actual attack is going to come soon if we can’t stop it.”

“I thought we were talking about a storm, not an attack,” Calvin asks with a frown.

“Right now, there’s not much of a difference,” Hobbes shoots back. He growls at the night around them that lies at the edges of the lights. “Tell me, what do you think the Upside-Down is?”

Calvin shrugs. “Didn’t the kids say it was like the Vale of Shadows? Some kind of alternate dimension?”

“Tell me,” Hobbes begins, “what do you think the strongest faith in the world is?”

“Christianity?” Susie asks with a shrug.

“Not anymore,” Hobbes mutters darkly. “The strongest faith in the 20 th century was born in 1945.”

“What happened in 1945?” Calvin asks.

“The most powerful weapon in human history was detonated over Japan,” Hobbes mutters darkly. “You know, right now, there are 4,765,657,562 people in the world. And all of those billions of people believe in a thousand different faiths and politicians and leaders and ideologies, but all of them are united in their knowledge that a few angry men in the White House and the Kremlin could kill every last one of them.”

“‘There is only the question: When will I be blown up?’” Susie murmurs under her breath.

“Exactly.”

Calvin looks up at the sky, half-expecting to see a nuclear warhead streaking past the stars that very instant. “What does that have to do with the Upside-Down?”

“The Upside-Down is the child of those billions of people and their unifying, all-consuming fear. The Upside-Down is a universe where the world has already ended because Man wasn’t smart enough not to kill himself.”

Those few words echo in the silence, receding into the night. Calvin is suddenly extremely aware of the chill on his fingers and his cheeks, the back of his neck, of the scratchy sensation of his jeans and the feeling of socks on his feet. His fingers begin impatiently tapping against each other.

“Like that,” Hobbes says, breaking through Calvin’s thoughts. “That awareness, that fear lends the Upside-Down power. Every time you look around and wonder if a nuclear warhead is coming to blow everyone up, every time the teachers make you practice for a nuclear bombing by hiding under your tables, every time you look at a map of the world and feel a slight sense of unease at the sight of the U.S.S.R., you’re praying to the bomb. And every prayer brings the Upside-Down just a little closer to reality.”

Susie frowns. “But then what about the stuff that came out of the Upside-Down. Like the slug inside Will Byers?”

“Survivors,” Hobbes says.”

“Survivors?”

“You didn’t really think a nuclear holocaust would actually kill the entire human race, did you? Your species is really good at clinging to life in the face of overwhelming odds.”

“Huh” is all Calvin can manage.

“Actually,” Susie mentions, “scientists think that in the event of a nuclear holocaust, only the cockroaches will survive.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Humans can be a lot worse than cockroaches. You just need to find the right kind of people.”

-X-

Hopper pulls the car up in front of the Byers house and catches a glimpse of the two high schoolers – Calvin and Susie, his brain helpfully supplies – rising to their feet as they see his car. He waves his at them to shut them up as he steps out of the car and heads into the house.

Pretty soon, he has a fairly huge map spread out across the top of the kitchen table. Joyce sets down cups at the corners – Hopper hopes that doesn’t leave any coffee stains – and everyone filters in.

“All right,” he announces, feeling oddly like a general about to lay out a battle plan. “There are three entrances to the sewer system large enough for a kid like Will to get in through. Two of them are on public record. The third one was caught by Mr. Thompson. It’s apparently been closed for years and it’s pretty out-of-the-way, at the quarry. It’s pretty dangerous –”

“Called it!” Calvin shouts.

“What?”

“That’s what you were about to ask, isn’t it? For us to split up and have different groups take a different entrance.”

“No,” Hopper growls, “actually, my plan was for us to . . .” His brain catches up with his mouth. “. . . To split up and have different groups take a different entrance . . .”

Calvin raises an eyebrow at him.

“Shut up,” Hopper snaps lamely. “Why do you want the quarry, anyway?”

Calvin shrugs. “Sounds dangerous. What are the other options, anyway?”

“Two officially listed pump stations,” Hopper reads off the Post-it Mr. Thompson had attached to the map.

Steve frowns and leans forward. “What about manhole covers?”

Hopper blinks. “You’re still here?”

“My parents are out of town, remember?”

“Right,” Hopper mutters, “let’s just invite the local drunks while we’re here.”

“Hey!”

Suddenly, Mike raises a hand. “Which one are we going to be taking?”

Hopper snorts. “You kids, especially Eleven, are going to be staying here.”

“Wait, what?!” All three kids start shouting. In the midst of the raised voices, Mike yells, “But we helped out last summer!”

“Yes,” Hopper yells back, “and you almost died! I don’t have time to drive you all home right now, so stay here and try not to get killed, all right? This is serious!”

One by one, the three boys turn away at his hard gaze. Mike turns last. Behind them, El watches the whole proceedings like a tennis match.

“Moving on,” Hopper snarls as he tries to ignore his pounding headache, “me and Joyce can take the north pump. Mr. Thompson can take the south one.”

“Wait, you’re forgetting someone!” Jonathan shouts indignantly.

Hopper fixes him with a glare he normally reserves for poker games. “I’m really not.”

“You’re letting them go,” Nancy points out, waving her hand at Calvin and Susie.

“Leave us out of this,” Calvin mutters.

“Apparently, they’re technically adults. Also, if they die, I don’t have to explain what they were doing in a sewer past midnight to their parents.”

“Actually,” Mr. Thompson interjects mildly, “I don’t mind having the teens for company.”

Hopper counts to 10, very slowly. Then again. Then again.

“On your own goddamned graves,” he finally snarls. “You four,” he stares pointedly at the three kids and Eleven, “are still staying here.” He looks around. “We good?”

Mike mutinously glares at him.

“Right,” Hopper says, putting his hat back on. “Let’s get to work.”

-X-

Calvin’s squinting as he tries to make out the road ahead of him. The headlights aren’t very helpful at this time of night, especially with branches and roots spilling into his field of vision.

“Stop,” Hobbes suddenly says.

Calvin hits the brakes on the car and Hobbes jumps out of the car, bounding a few yards into the woods. Calvin grabs a flashlight and he and Susie follow Hobbes.

Hobbes comes to a stop before a dead drop box. He doesn’t bother to open it, but closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, as if smelling the box. His tongue flicks from between his lips and licks his canines.

Calvin and Susie stand silently to the side, shooting questioning glances at each other.

Hobbes’s eyes snap open. “Sorry about that,” he says as he turns back around. “Chief Hopper came by here a few times after last fall to leave Eggos for El. He had a hunch that they might get to her in the Upside-Down, especially after they started disappearing.”

Susie frowns. “I thought she wasn’t in the Upside-Down.”

“Oh, she wasn’t,” Hobbes says dismissively, “but that wasn’t the point. He hoped she was alive, and he felt guilty that she might be dead. The Eggos didn’t sustain her, Hopper did.”

He takes another deep breath, as if treasuring some fading smell of perfume in a deceased’s belongings. “There’s enough residual faith here to give me some extra juice right now. I’m going to need it.”

-X-

“But what if the chief gets back?”

“Dustin,” Mike yells, “shut up! He’s not going to come back on time.”

When the chief had driven them back to the house, he’d stashed all of their bikes in the trunk of his car and taken them back out at the Byers house. Luckily for the kids.

“Look,” Mike says with a sigh, “you can stay here. But if there’s a chance I can help Will out, I’m taking it. I don’t care if the chief kills me when he gets back. Someone has to do this.”

Mike hops onto his bike and feels his heart thump threateningly when El climbs on behind him. He tries to ignore that and kicks off his bike’s stand. Behind him, Lucas does the same.

He heads down the road, pebbles rattling beneath his wheels and dirt lightly spraying up behind him.

Just as they pull out of the Byers’ driveway, he hears a third bike pull up behind them.

“We’re still dead, though.”

-X-

Jonathan can’t keep his fingers from bouncing impatiently as Mr. Thompson starts yet another tale about his long and “storied” career in journalism. Beside him, he can feel Steve and Nancy buckling down.

It’s a relief when the sign for “Hawkins Pump Station 2” appears in their headlights.

“Wait,” Steve says, “how are we supposed to get in?” He points to the padlock hanging over the fence that blocks entry into the station’s driveway.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Thompson says cheerfully as he fishes a ring with two keys out of his pocket. “Chief Hopper picked these up for us back at the courthouse.

Jonathan grabs the key out of the man’s hands without a word and steps out of the car, ignoring his protestations. He marches up to the padlock and unlocks it, having to yank a bit from a little rust at the edges of the chain. He pushes the fence aside.

Steve and Nancy click on flashlights and the three of them walk warily into the station, with Mr. Thompson doddering behind somewhere.

The station itself is fairly small, about the size of the shed behind Jonathan’s house. It’s all brick, with a locked steel door. Jonathan pushes the second key on the ring into the keyhole.

“FREEZE!”

The four of them all spin around to see a group of state troopers climbing out of the woods surrounding the station and into the driveway.

-X-

Susie ends up being the one who finds the footprints in the sand at the edge of the water.

“We should really have brought radios,” Calvin remarks. “I mean, shouldn’t the chief have handed out radios? Then we could have told the others that the kid had been here and they could all have just headed over here.”

Susie shushes him with her hand when she sees that the tracks lead into a small cave at the shoreline. When she glances in, she sees an odd combination of nature and manmade infrastructure coexisting. It’s fairly obvious that the cave was here first, but there are steel beams set into the stone at regular intervals and two flat horizontal concrete layers that jut out about a foot from the walls of the cave, providing a way to walk down the sewer without stepping into the water.

If anyone had ever put in lights, however, they had never been repaired.

Hobbes growls at the darkness, looking a little unnerved. Susie can relate.

A sudden clap has Susie jumping into the air, her flashlight wildly searching for the source of the noise.

Calvin cracks up behind her and doesn’t let up even when she starts glaring at him.

“You have to admit,” he says with a chuckle, “that was pretty good.”

Susie rolls her eyes as she tries to get her jackhammering heart under control and turns the flashlight back down the sewer.

“Guess we should probably start moving,” she says. Her voice sounds oddly small in the dark.

Calvin grabs her hand. “Guess so,” he says cheerily.

Hobbes just growls again, and the three of them start walking.

-X-

It only takes them a few minutes to get into the school, and soon they’re hurrying through the empty hallways, looking for the AV room.

“It’s always weird seeing the school empty, isn’t it?” Mike hears Dustin mutter as they push their way into the room and flick on the lights.

“OK, El, you remember how to use this, right?” Mike asks.

El nods, takes a seat, and puts the headset on.

It takes a few more minutes for the boys to set up, as they click on the power and tune the radio’s audio settings.

El closes her eyes, and for a few seconds, there is no noise but the quiet, comforting hum of the radio.

Suddenly, all the lights turn off. A slight rustle to Mike’s left causes him to turn his head.

He screams.

-X-

“This will all go a lot easier if you tell us where Dr. Owens is,” the trooper is repeating.

Hopper, meanwhile, is trying to ignore the dull throb in his head from where one of the troopers had hit him with the butt of a rifle when he had gone for his gun.

“How would we even know where the man is?” Joyce demands.

The two of them are currently sitting against the chain-link fence surrounding Hawkins Pump Station 1, being menaced by three of the state’s best and brightest. Four others seem to be playing with the machinery inside the pump.

The trooper turns his cold stare to Joyce. “Ma’am, Dr. Owens went out with two officers to deal with you two and any of your associates. He failed to check in several hours later, and we ran into you breaking into a sewer pump station. Give us some credit in connecting these dots.”

Joyce defiantly glares back at him.

One of the officers leans over to the man currently speaking to them and whispers something in his ear. The man nods and turns back to them.

“You should know that we’ve also arrested the teenagers you sent to the second pump station, as well as the old man. You’ve got nothing to gain by not cooperating with us.”

He looks down at them and observes their continued silence. The trooper slowly lets out a breath between his teeth.

“Look you see those troopers in the pump right now? They’re flooding the whole sewer with natural gas.”

He grins when he sees Hopper’s and Joyce’s heads jump up immediately.

“We’re going to ignite the whole system in about ten minutes, so if there’s anything we should know, you should probably tell us right now.”

“My son’s in there,” Joyce blurts out.

The trooper frowns. “You mean the one who went into the Upside-Down? The one carrying the infection?”

She nods hurriedly.

“Good,” the trooper snaps. “Two birds with one stone.”

-X-

Following Will’s trail isn’t particularly difficult. The sewer only has one tunnel big enough for a person to walk down.

Susie stops and sniffs the air. “Do you smell something?”

Calvin pauses as well. “Yeah, smells like gas. Wait.” He pulls off his jacket and quickly rips two lengths of cloth from it. “Come here,” he beckons to Susie.

When she complies, he rapidly wraps the cloth around her nose and mouth, then does the same for himself.

“Will that actually help?” she asks curiously.

Calvin shrugs. “It makes me feel better. Do you think there’s a gas leak going one somewhere?”

“Probably,” Susie replies. “This place is ancient.”

“Prehistoric.”

“Venerable.”

“Paleolithic.”

“All right, you win that round,” Susie says with a laugh. She freezes as her flashlight catches the shape of something lying down on the walk a few yards ahead. “Come on,” she orders.

As they get closer, they see Will Byers lying on the ground. His skin looks so white it could pass for paper and there’s filmy layer of sweat on him.

“OK,” Calvin whispers, “we’ll just grab him and get the hell out of here, right? Easy does it now . . .”

His voice trails off as Susie’s light dances over the wall that Will is lying next to.

The whole wall is covered in a glistening black mass that writhes between two vertical steel beams. Wherever the flashlight’s beam touches, the whole structure shies away as if avoiding a flame.

There are no eyes or tongues or ears or anything about the wriggling black shape that seems even remotely human, and Calvin can’t shake the feeling that the whole thing is watching her.

“We’re a long way from home, aren’t we?” he whispers and glances back for Hobbes’s reply.

There a stuffed tiger lying on the ground a few feet behind him.

-X-

“Don’t panic!” the tiger says hurriedly, raising its hands placatingly.

All three boys are currently frozen in shock.

_ That’s a tiger _ , Mike’s eyes whisper.

_ No way that’s a tiger _ , his brain replies.

_ That is absolutely a tiger _ , his eyes say insistently.

_ And it’s talking to us _ , his ears add.

Mike’s brain feels like it’s about to start melting any second now.

And then El leans over and waves. “Hi, Hobbes.”

“Hey, El!” he (is it a she? Mike’s not sure if he wants to know) replies cheerily.

El turns back to the three boys, seemingly just realizing how shocked they look. “Friend,” she says with a shrug.

“Right,” the tiger responds. “My name is Hobbes, by the way,” and offers his hand.

The three boys just stare at it dumbfounded.

“Well, I don’t think there’s any call to be rude,” Hobbes mutters peevishly. “I mean look at me, possibly the end of the world, and I still have time for a tie.”

Mike would literally have bet his life that Hobbes hadn’t been wearing anything, but suddenly the tiger is stroking an expertly knotted tie.

“Girls flip for ties,” he says with a wink. “Trust me on this.”

Mike’s brain finally finishes its internal debate on his sanity and picks out a phrase.

“End of the world?” he squeaks.

Hobbes shrugs. “Just about. Don’t worry, though, we’re going to stop it. After all, everyone knows the best way to fight pure evil is with a group of prepubescent kids on bicycles.”

Mike feels a bit like a rocket that – two seconds before liftoff – has realized that it is pointed straight at the ground.

“Seriously,” Hobbes says hastily, seeing the expression on everyone’s faces, “don’t worry about it. I’ve got a two-part plan that’s going to handle everything, but I’m going to need your guys’ help.”

Mike, Dustin, and Lucas all exchange glances that say, “Are you all having the same hallucination as me?”

“By the way, did I mention the astral projection?”

“Wait, really?”

“Woah, you can do that?”

“That’s so cool!”

Hobbes nods, looking pretty pleased with himself. “It is pretty cool. So, can I count on you guys to save the world?”

Mike scratches the back of his head, feeling a little awkward when Hobbes spells it out like that. “I guess so?”

“Great! First thing, how would you survive a gas explosion?”

-X-

“You can’t do that!” Joyce screams. “My son is in there!”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” the trooper grunts as they push here back to the fence and handcuff her in place, “your son is carrying an alien infection that could potentially threaten the security of the United States. This is necessary –”

Joyce spits on him and the man backhands her.

That’s about all Hopper sees before everything goes red.

By the time he comes to, he’s handcuffed next to Joyce and one of the troopers is lying spread-eagle on the ground, blood gushing from his nose.

“That didn’t really change anything,” Joyce whispers, “but thanks anyway.”

Hopper frowns as he clenches his fist and unclenches it. “I think I broke my hand,” he whispers back.

-X-

“Hobbes?” Calvin whispers. It’s odd how much he sounds like a boy again in that instant, with his voice almost cracking and low enough that it’s barely audible in the dark. He pokes the stuffed tiger gently. “Hobbes?”

“Calvin?” Susie calls from somewhere off in the far distance. Everything feels far away now, except for Calvin and the doll lying in a heap on the dirty concrete.

“Calvin!”

“What?” he shouts as he spins to her voice. His retort catches in his throat.

The black shape has begun to split open in certain areas, with streaks of dusty light spilling from the cracks and into the sewer.

Susie has grabbed hold of Will by his shoulders and his dragging him back to Calvin. “We should get out of here,” she hisses.

“Yeah,” mutters as he grabs Hobbes and stuffs him into his belt. It’s weird, stuffing his closest, dearest friend into the loop of his belt. The words don’t make much sense in his head.

The smell of gas is getting stronger.

-X-

Hobbes frowns. “So, you guys want to fight an explosion with . . . another explosion?”

“Yeah!” Mike says, “But with water!”

“Mr. Clarke told us about this once,” Dustin is saying. “We were hoping to make . . . Anyway, airborne natural gas burns up  _ really  _ quickly.”

“If we can douse these guys with clean water really quickly, the fire should pass over them,” Lucas explains.

“All right,” Hobbes says, rubbing his eyes. “Astral projection time.”

There’s no sudden tilt in the world or anything. It’s just, one second Mike is at school in the AV room, the next, he’s standing in a sewer.

“Woah,” he mutters as his eyes adapt to the lighting.

He catches sight of two people running down the hallway. One of them seems to be carrying another person.

“Wait,” Lucas shouts, “that’s Will! Hey, stop!”

“They can’t hear or see you,” Hobbes says quietly. “Astral projection remember? Well, not exactly astral projection, more like piggybacking off of El’s powers, but close enough. Just warning you, you’ll all have nosebleeds when you get up.”

As Mike looks down the hall, he sees El, who’s standing in front of . . . in front of . . .

“Is that it?” he whispers. He can’t figure out a way to describe the wall of nightmare in front of him.

“Yes,” Hobbes answers darkly. “We need to close the gate before the government ignites the sewer, or the infection will just start with Will again.”

“How do we do that?” Lucas asks. None of them are able to take their eyes off of El and the black monstrosity in front of her.

“A sacrifice,” Hobbes says.

“Hey, we are not sacrificing any of us!” Dustin shouts.

Hobbes rolls his eyes. “Not you guys.”

“Not El either!” Mike yells.

Hobbes looks at them with something odd shining in his eyes. “You really are credits to the human race, you know that?”

They all blink, trying to figure out if that’s an insult or a compliment.

“All right,” Hobbes says, “I want you all to look.”

And Mike looks.

He’ll never be able to describe it afterward, but in that instant, he can look at the walls of the sewer, see the pipes running along the stone, and just, somehow,  _ see _ what running through the steel cylinders.

He can tell, instantly, which ones are carrying sewage and which ones are carrying toilet water and which ones are carrying –

“There,” he announces, and the other boys look, too. It’s exactly what they need, several parallel pipes carrying clean drinking water. Just as the boys think it, the water runs into a mysterious obstacle right where Calvin and Susie are carrying Will.

-X-

“Preparing ignition,” the trooper announces. “Station two, ready.”

“You can’t do this!” Jonathan screams, His voice is hoarse from yelling and his throat feels like someone has dragged a serrated knife along it. “Please!”

-X-

Hobbes stands next to El.

He’s tired, he realizes, tired in a way that he’s never been before.

He’s been running off of the fumes of Hopper’s dead drop box, and now he’s almost out.

Around him, he can still see a few golden strands of time stretching around him. The systems and matrices that they form call to him.

If he squints, he can still see the points where his plan began to fly off the rails.

Not that it matters now. He’s a spent god.

_ Still _ , he muses, _ a death that means something. How many gods get that? _

He looks back at Calvin, still trying to get away, still clinging to life. There’s something beautiful in that.

_ This might not be the end _ , a voice in his head reminds him.

Still, best to assume the worst, so that if he turns out to be wrong, he can be pleased by it.

El is still trying to beat the portal to death with her powers. She has power, but she lacks the finesse needed to close this. If she had been a little older, a little more skilled . . .

Stop. No use focusing on those possibilities that never happened.

As he watches, a few more of those strands of time fade from view.

He’s dying, he knows. This is a way for him to die game.

“El,” he whispers. “It won’t work.”

She looks up to glare at him. She knows, of course, but she’s still looking for another way out. Bless her little child heart.

“There needs to be someone on the other side to close it,” he whispers.

“No!” she yells, and there’s desperation in her eyes. The desperation of a deer that’s been cornered in the woods. A player that knows she’s holding a losing hand.

“You know it’s true,” he says.

A tear drips down from the corner of El’s eye and down the side of her face. Something inside Hobbes breaks at the sight of that.

“It’ll be OK,” he whispers and places a kiss on her brow. “Just remember this . . .” He pauses. It’s a risk, of course, but right now, what isn’t? “I’ve always liked lions,” he says finally.

He stands tall. Fixes his tie (girls flip for ties, he reflects with a smile).

Hobbes steps forward.

-X-

Mike hears the unmistakable hiss of a gas fire. “Now!” he shouts, and suddenly his head feels like it’s been lit on fire.

Three pipes explode from pent-up water pressure, dousing Calvin, Susie, and Will with dozens of gallons of water.

And the world turns to flames.

. . .

He sniffs the air and, for a second, is terrified to realize that he can still smell smoke. Mike sits bolt upright, then sees El take off her headset. A small wisp of smoke curls from the wrecked radio.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I broke it again.”

Before Mike can tell her that it’s OK, Dustin whoops behind. “That was so cool!” he shouts and exchanges a high five with Lucas. “Can we do that again, Hobbes?”

The three boys look around for the tiger.

Mike hears El start crying.

-X-

The first thing Calvin is aware of, as he spits water out of his mouth, is a stinging pain at his hip. He looks down.

There are bundle of waterlogged, charred rags loosely held in the loop of his belt.

When Susie looks up, she sees Calvin sobbing, clutching a handful of ashes like his life depends on it.

-X-

_ Darkness. _

_ Is this death? _

_ Boring. _

-X-

Somewhere, somewhere very far away, Calvin thinks he can hear someone calling his name. He thinks anyway. He’s pretty sure he’s dreaming.

He hopes he’s dreaming. That he’s having a nightmare and, any moment, Susie’s going to push his shoulder and he’s going to wake up.

And the sun will be shining and the sky will burn gold with the light of the dawn and Hobbes will look across the room and raise his eyebrow and . . .

The engine that runs Calvin’s brain falters.

And Hobbes will look across the room . . .

It falters again.

And Hobbes . . .

He’s like a broken record, some distant part of him reflects.

_ Broken _ . That seems like the right word. Because how could he possibly be fixed and proper and functioning and  _ whole _ when his world has just cracked down the middle? When one of the central axes of his life has just slipped out from beneath him?

He’s crying, he realizes dimly. He’s crying and he hadn’t even noticed. He’s crying and he hasn’t cried in years. He’s crying.

As he watches, the ashes crackle in his hands. He grips them too tightly, tries to hold on too hard and they break apart in his hands, brittle. They turn to mush and run between his fingers and Calvin tries to catch them but they slip onto the wet concrete and get carried away by the water into the sewer.

He needs to follow them. He needs to follow the ashes and find Hobbes and put him back together and . . .

He needs to be six again. He needs to be six and have no troubles in the world and be able to laugh and run and scream and cry and explore those missing edges of the map.

He needs Hobbes back.

He realizes, a little belatedly, that he isn’t getting closer to the sewage, but further away. He looks down and sees an arm looped around his waist. Susie is taking him away. Away from Hobbes.

“No!” He wrenches out of her grip and surges forward, then slips on the concrete and falls to the ground.

“Calvin!” She shouts as she grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him up. “We have to go!”

“No,” he sobs.

“We do!”

“No,” he sobs again and then she grabs him and he falls into her chest and cries.

He cries for a long time.

-X-

Dr. Owens futilely presses against the handcuffs around his wrist again. By this point, he’s cut long grooves around his wrists and there’s crusted blood around the edges of the cuffs.

He jumps as the door to the van rattles and swings open. The teenager walks in. The girl – Susie Derkins.

She inclines her head to him in greeting. He doesn’t bother to return the gesture.

She sits down on the bench opposite from him. She doesn’t say anything. Neither does he.

She starts tapping her foot on the metal of the van floor.

Dr. Owens waits patiently.

She finally sighs. “Your people set off the gas explosion.”

“The infection?” he demands. Job first, no matter what.

“It’s dead,” she says shortly. “Will Byers should be clean.”

“We’ll want to verify that,” Dr. Owens says quickly.

She gives him a strange look. “You should know something.”

He tilts her head towards her.  _ I’m listening _ .

“The old guy who came with us? His name is Jerry Thompson. A retired journalist.”

Dr. Owens raises an eyebrow.  _ So what? _

“Last evening,” Susie says carefully, “he and Calvin sent a package through the mail to one of his associates. It contains everything we’ve found out about your organization. About El.”

“You’re bluffing,” Dr. Owens says immediately, though a cold, light drop of fear has just run down his spine.

Susie smiles humorlessly at him. “Then call my bluff.”

Dr. Owens does some mental calculus. On one hand, he could bury these people. Just kill them, incinerate the bodies, wipe his hands and be done with this whole business. On the other hand, if she’s telling the truth . . .

He can imagine the media firestorm.

“I’m assuming you’re going to offer your silence, in exchange for a deal.”

She nods.

They can survive a deal. They can regroup, reorganize, and come back harder and stronger someday. They can’t survive an investigation. They can’t survive the fickle anger of the public.

He crosses his legs. “I’m listening.”

-X-

Susie Derkins walks out of that van with several guarantees:

  1. Everyone involved in this debacle will be allowed to go home, no charges filed and no investigations.
  2. Any medical problems, physical or otherwise, will be covered by federal dollars.
  3. Eleven will be getting her own identity as soon as she decides where she wants to stay.
  4. The Department of Energy is going to be getting the hell out of Hawkins.



In exchange:

  1. Will Byers and anyone else who went into the Upside-Down will be checked by federal examiners.
  2. Any incidents involving Subject Eleven and her powers will warrant federal intervention.



It’s not perfect.

But, overall, Susie thinks she’s gotten a good deal.

-X-

Calvin is sitting on the Byers’ couch when Susie gets back into the house. He doesn’t look up when she comes in. She considers going to him, trying to talk to him.

He’s staring across the room at nothing in particular.

She sits down next to him and lies back on the couch, letting out a small groan. It’s been a long day.

Slowly, he unwinds. Slowly, he leans back.

They scoot closer together, trying to enjoy each other’s warmth.

Susie knows that this is just a short reprieve. Pretty soon, the rest of Hawkins people are going to be released and she’s going to need to explain what happened. Mr. Thompson, she can already guess, won’t be too happy she promised him to silence.

But right now, the sun is beginning to show hints of itself at the edge of skyline, streaks of light beaming through the trees. It’s surprisingly peaceful.

At some point, they fall asleep.

-X-

Mike wakes up screaming from where he had fallen asleep in Will’s room.

All the other boys are sleeping from where Susie had dropped them the night before and he manages to cut off his scream.

He looks over and sees El staring at him with wide eyes.

Suddenly, Mike feels so incredibly angry at himself. It’s over, isn’t it? Why can’t he move on?

Slowly, silently, El walks over next to him and sits down.

“Nightmare?”

Mike considers denying, then decides against it. “Yeah.”

She looks at him with large, open eyes. “Talk about it?”

Mike swallows. He wants to say “no.” He’s been saying “no” to his parents, his friends, to everyone if they ever asked him wanted to talk about his nightmares.

“Yes,” he decides.

El had been there. It had been about the night, last year at the school, when she had disappeared after she fought the Demogorgon. Except, in his nightmare, she doesn’t disappear. She lies there on the ground, dead, and the Demogorgon laughs and carries her body off and Mike screams but it doesn’t come back.

It’s a fairly common nightmare.

“And I thought that now that you were here, they wouldn’t happen anymore, but it happened again last night and . . . And I didn’t want you to think I was weak or something.”

El turns to him, something like shock in her eyes. Then, she shakes her head. She points at him. “Not weak,” she says insistently. “Strong.”

“I just . . .” Mike’s hand start shaking. “I’m afraid of them. And I don’t know what I’ll do if they keep happening.”

“Mike,” El interrupts. “I’m here.”

“I know you’re here!” Mike exclaims. “And that’s why I don’t get why the nightmares are still happening!”

El shakes her head. “No. Here to listen.”

“We’re here, too, you know,” a voice says behind him.

Mike looks back and sees Lucas and Dustin sitting up and looking at him.

“Idiot,” Dustin mutters. “We’re always going to be here.”

Mike realizes something, at that moment. This – this thing he has with them – isn’t conditional.

Maybe his nightmares won’t stop tonight. Maybe they’ll never stop. Maybe he can’t cure them, and maybe he’ll just have to learn to live with them for the rest of his life.

Or maybe they will stop, eventually.

And Mike realizes that he doesn’t actually care all that much, because his friends will be here for him. No matter what. Just like they all were with Will.

“Friend,” El says softly.

“Friend,” Dustin and Lucas repeat.

_ Friend _ . The word hangs in the air, shimmering and ethereal and so fragile that Mike is afraid to say anything for fear of disturbing it.

Then Dustin cracks up. “Could we sound anything more like a cult right now?”

They’re still laughing when everyone else comes home.

-X-

Will has to sit through six hours of examination before the lab declares that he’s clean.

(Joyce spent the whole time pacing the waiting room – apparently government torture chambers have honest-to-God waiting rooms – and asking Susie, “Are you sure this doctor is reliable?” Susie had pleaded the Fifth.)

El is another matter.

Eight different doctors, scientists, orderlies, and lawyers sit in front of Joyce, Hopper, Calvin, and Susie and try to convince them to let them take “Subject Eleven” back.

They talk about the danger of her mental instability. (“And whose fault is that?”)

They talk about her importance in ensuring national security. (“She’s a girl, not a weapon!”)

The last one even has the balls to imply that Joyce would be a poor mother figure for El.

They give up after the reaction to that one.

As it turns out, however, they needn’t have worried about that. Hopper is going to be moving in Joyce. (According to him, in his best Lonnie impression, “The boys need some proper masculine influence.” Joyce is too busy laughing to slap him.)

As they’re getting ready to leave, El grabs Susie by the sleeve and pulls her down to whisper something into her ear.

-X-

The cell is exactly the same as she had left it.

There’s the tiny bed –  _ no _ , she thinks, _ cot _ , and she’s proud of the extent of her vocabulary – she slept in for over a decade. There’s the drawing of herself and Papa, made with the best artistry she could muster at that age. (She feels sick when she sees that now.)

And there, on the bed, is a stuffed lion.

“Hobbes?” she whispers hopefully.

The lion obstinately remains a stuffed lion.

She’s not old enough – not yet, at least – to feel silly about wishing a lion to life.

She closes her eyes, then opens them again. It’s still a stuffed lion.

She closes her eyes again, but this time she lets her need overwhelm her. She recalls the girl who had once lived here, someone who had been so incredibly desperate for any hint of friendship. She feels the hope and desire and want float in her and bubble and boil and rise to the surface.

When she opens her eyes again, Hobbes is sitting on the edge of the cot, marveling at his new pelt. “You know,” he says with a grin, “I could get used to this new color.”

-X-

Everyone does bit of a double-take when they see El walk out of the elevator with a stuffed lion.

“Well, you see,” one of the doctors hopefully starts, “Eleven was never  _ deprived _ as a child. She had as many amenities as she –”

“Don’t even start,” Joyce snaps and walks out before he can finish his sentence.

As they leave the entrance for the last time, Joyce stops to take in the sight. Steel doors and clinical, white walls. An ID required for every entrance. Bustling people all wearing white, fading into the walls. And now almost empty.

Joyce turns and feels a sense of relief as she steps outside. There’s a light breeze that’s just a little too cold and the sun is just a bit too bright and there’s bird poop on the sidewalk, but those little accidents and imperfections are how Joyce knows that this is all  _ real _ .

“So, El,” she says as she bends over to get a better look at the doll clutched in her hands, “what’s that?”

“Who,” El corrects. “Name is Hobbes.”

A few feet behind them, Calvin looks up in surprise.

-X-

Susie finds Calvin playing with a cigarette between his fingers behind the Byers home. The parents came to pick up their kids and the Byers and Hopper have all gone to the school to see what can be done about El’s education.

Mr. Thompson has been irritably avoiding Susie since she told him about the deal, which she supposes is only fair. Right now, he’s gone for a drive. Apparently, his doctor had recommended long drives in the countryside to deal with stress.

That leaves the two of them.

“I thought you stopped smoking,” she calls out.

Calvin starts at her voice, then tosses the cigarette out into the grass in the backyard.

“And now you’re littering,” she observes.

“I only stopped because El was with us. Didn’t want to smoke in front of a kid.”

“And now?”

“Now I just don’t feel like it.”

“That’s good. Taking charge of your own health.”

“Shut up.”

Susie waits patiently. Calvin has never really been able to keep his feeling under wraps around her, even if that manifests in snowballs.

“Do you think El actually saw Hobbes when she looked at that lion?”

“Well, I don’t think Hobbes would be happy as a lion,” Susie says diplomatically.

“I’d be happy if I knew he was alive,” Calvin growls.

“You don’t control that, Calvin,” Susie says mildly.

“Don’t I?” he mutters darkly.

“You don’t. You can play at being God with your snowmen and your dinosaurs and your time machines and Transmorgifiers, but you can’t bring him back.”

Calvin nods slowly at that.

“It’s just . . .” he starts with a sigh. “It’s just that the Media god said that people like her and Hobbes were made by us believing in them. Maybe if I wanted Hobbes back more, then he would be alive.”

“I don’t think I works like that,” Susie says gently.

He looks up angrily at her. “And how the hell would you know?”

“Well,” Susie snaps, “because maybe you can’t just bring people back to life by wishing for them! Could you possibly want Hobbes back more, Calvin? Maybe there are limits to how much our wishes can do, and maybe that’s all there is to it!”

Calvin whimpers, as if Susie has wounded him. “I know.”

Susie sighs. “You know, I used to blame myself for my mom’s death.”

Calvin grunts in reply.

For a few minutes, the wind whistles quietly through the trees around them.

“I just feel like,” Calvin says, and Susie can see how hard he tries to get those words out. “I just feel as though a part of me just died.”

“Well, it did. The part of you that belonged to Hobbes died with him.”

Calvin lets out a breath. “Did you ever talk to you dad about this?”

“Once,” Susie replies. “I asked him if I was mad because I was alive and mom wasn’t. He said that a part of him was. He said that a part of him had died when the doctor told him the news and he said that the hole that left in him never really got better. He said it still hurt sometimes.”

Calvin stares out into the trees, but Susie knows that he’s listening.

“He said that, no matter what, he just had to keep living with that hole in him, and over time, it started to hurt less. I asked if that was the best way to live after someone died. He said ‘no’.”

Calvin looks up at her curiously, a wordless question in his eyes.

“He said, ‘That’s the  _ only _ way to live after someone has died. Otherwise, you just die with them, one way or the other.’”

Calvin turns his head back to the trees.

“You think I’m not sad that Hobbes died, too?” Susie asks softly. “But he wouldn’t want us to mope around about him. He would have wanted us to live.”

For a second, she wonders if Calvin heard her. Then, he turns back to her.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he says. “Live.”

Susie holds out a hand. “Together.”

Calvin takes it.

“Together.”

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> A few side notes:  
> 1\. Thank you for making it to the end! YOU'RE AN AMAZING HUMAN BEING!! But seriously, thank you so much.  
> 2\. Mike is absolutely going to take El to the Snow Ball this time around and Hopper's going to go Papa Wolf while Joyce rolls her eyes at him; Jonathan, Steve, and Nancy are actually going to talk about, like, emotions and shit at some point (who knows, I might actually write that conversation); Max doesn't exist because I'm still waiting to see what the Duffer Bros. do with her (sorry Max fans); and Calvin and Susie are going to get an apartment together while Susie's in college. To make ends meet, Calvin might start considering an artistic career ;) Hint: check the year.  
> 3\. Does anyone know who Jerry Thompson is? Like, I'm legitimately curious.  
> 4\. A certain Cormac McCarthy character made a tiny, tiny cameo.  
> 5\. Question: If we worship D&D by playing it, does that mean that the monsters inside are alive?


End file.
